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. Passing thought. It was horrible. “Look here, father,” she said, with a change in her voice, “suppose I won’t stand it?” He regarded her as though this was a new idea. A spot of colour, brighter than any rouge, burned on her cheeks. "I am.
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This video was uploaded to bbdy.space on 22-06-2024 07:44:17
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