“Then you—you will?” A long pause. A disconcerting gray eye that had a mystifying depth. 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. "It's more than I am," muttered Thames. Jack, meanwhile, heard, the shouts, and, though alarmed by them, held on a steady course.
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