Lucy was surprised to hear that any party could happen on a week night, but the parents of the house in question were the rich absentee type. Her fingers found the lump she sought and, with a little effort, she dragged out the black-wrapped foil. “Then I will do what I can,” Anna promised. 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. “Annabel!” He looked at her thoughtfully. Mr. .
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