What she admired in her man was his resolute defense of his opinions. Lucy loved orchestras, the bittersweet tinge of rosin dust that hung in the air, the way that the sun shone through filthy windows illuminating the marimbas with a storybook light. . His voice when he spoke was almost fiercely assertive, but there was an undernote of nervousness. As though it was indelicate—it’s just a sort of shyness.
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