“Delicious!” she murmured. That was how she projected it, and in general terms it seemed plausible and possible. 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. ‘What do we do now?’ Gerald took a pace towards the girl. 95 The officer showed her into the sleepy suburban police station, a hub of inactivity on Sunday night except for herself and a slightly drunk woman who had been brought in for DUI. Immediately the "boy" went forth with his paper lantern, repeating a cry as he ran—warning to clear the way.
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