And ever after it struck him that her backward smile as she disappeared was charged with some special significance. 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. “Where is my beautiful wife?” He bellowed from the downstairs. . ” She scoffed. Her finger-nails dug into her flesh. In a few seconds, the shutter flew open,—then the window,—and they were in the room. For an instant, Gerald wished the rest of the world away that he might go to her and administer appropriate comfort.
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