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. His fingers cherished the hilt of his sword and his eyes were on his friend and superior, ready at his back to do whatever was needed. He went in there, and he was in there for a good half hour. She walked over to them still carrying the trousers in her hands, and stooped to examine them. “I believe it is.
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