The black clad students streamed slowly to their positions carrying their instruments like offerings to the pilgrimage. ’ ‘Truly?’ asked Melusine, warmth lighting her bosom. Afraid there'll be a love-affair. 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. “Don’t fence with me,” Anna cried fiercely.
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