" The poor widow hung her head, and pressed her child closer to her breast. Presently repellance grew under the frozen mask of astonishment and dissipated it. If she had once known him, if he were some former neighbour, it would be comprehensible. ‘I am perfectly devoted to him, as well he knows. 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. One puts gloves on one’s greedy fingers.
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