“While we were minding the children they stole our rights and liberties. As time wore on, and they did not return, Mr. 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. Courtlaw found himself ushered without questions into Annabel’s long low drawing-room, fragrant with flowers and somewhat to his surprise, crowded with guests. I waited for her at the back. He pointed to where the lights still burned in Anna’s windows.
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