But no matter how you phrase it, the end is the same. “These clothes are French, and I’m sure this floppy bow would make a Frenchman of me anyhow. Oh, you must believe me. Wood is now in very affluent circumstances. He knew not how to act, urged as he was in two directions. 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. As it is, we've only a couple of ducks—and they were intended for you. It never seems to enter their heads to try and amuse their menkind.
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