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. Grandmothers and grandfathers and uncles and aunts … to love and to coddle lonely little girls. Ann Veronica’s universe, which had never been altogether so respectful to her as she could have wished, gave a shout and whirled head over heels. " "Very. Marines. They're only just gone, mercy on us! what a clatter," she added, as the knocking was repeated more violently than before. The dream flowers and is harvested, and we are left by the wayside, having served our singular purpose in the scheme of progress: as the orange is tossed aside when sucked of its ruddy juice. I'll remember that.
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