‘You talk together of me as if I am not there. 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 remembered little whispered speeches of hers, so like the Annabel of Paris, so unlike the woman he loved, a hundred little things should have told him long ago. "Stand aside, Tom," commanded Kneebone. Blueskin and the Minters were dragging Wood to the pump.
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