Lucy savored the normalcy of the scene. She was surprised to find how stored her mind was with impressions and memories of him, how vividly she remembered his gestures and little things that he had said. I am called Melusine. He beamed a little as she disappeared into the orchestra room, a cacophony of tuning instruments. ’ ‘You wouldn’t,’ agreed Mrs Sindlesham. 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. "You mustn't!" "Nothing can change that, Dawn Pearl.
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