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For a stunned moment, Emile did not speak. 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. ” He glared at Martin. She despises me, I suppose. Framed in one of the square ports of the packet was a face which reminded Ah Cum of a Japanese theatrical mask.
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