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Her softly intertwined fingers became rigid. Sheppard. No, no! Not now!" Ruth turned abruptly and walked toward the bungalow, mounted the veranda steps, and vanished within. 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. Not a bad man as men go, but he would sell whisky and gin. ’ A sudden frown sprang to the fellow’s face. If I surprised her, if I saw her alone, I might make her understand.
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