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They heard his footsteps descending the stone staircase, growing fainter and fainter. Everybody talking of you. I’d rather not go,” she added. “I trust you altogether. Die game. “I have come from a very unfashionable quarter,” she said, “and I do not think that I have been inside a milliner’s shop for a year. 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. Ah Cum said that it was customary to give the chair boys small money for rice. If only sometimes he would grow angry at her, impatient! But his tender courtesy was unfailing; and under this would be the abiding bitterness of having mistaken gratitude for love.
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