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"Curiosity, I suppose," returned Jack, carelessly. 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. It was quite an unexpected pleasure to meet you and your worthy father. I'll lay my life he's gone. ” “You may be sure of the one,” she murmured. The house was redolent with the smells of cinnamon baking and the stuffed turkey and marinated pork roast. ” “I am afraid,” she murmured, “that it would be difficult. They are our food, Lucia, nothing more. I wanted the magic of love.
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