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. ‘The gatehouse? But why must you move him at all?’ ‘Listen, missie. If he awoke and caught you at it, there might be a set-back. I don’t want to Bowdlerize Shakespeare. I came to London to look for you, and somehow the figure I saw in my dreams had got mixed up with you.
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