‘I’ve never found a woman who did not drive me into a frenzy of boredom. If he took a fancy to you, he invited you to the house for tea, bitter and yellow and served in little cups without handles. 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. Mr. org. He’s a catch, Lucy. Maggot, bursting into a loud contemptuous laugh.
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