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 stirred continually, thrusting his legs about and flinging his arms above his head. "And now, farewell, Mr. ’ ‘From you,’ the lady threw at him furiously. " "I agree to that. It’s a pure joy of giving—giving to YOU. “I suppose delusions are not uncommon to patients in his condition.
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