She had dreaded the beginning of this hour. You speak as one injured—as though I had been the one to take your name—as though you had been the one to make sacrifices. You will not find it else. But seriously, things are not so bad as you think. 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. She came originally of country stock, and had been virtually in sole charge of Melusine almost from the hour of her birth—a thankless task, as Melusine had heard her bemoan countless times, with the rider that she had carried it out with a conspicuous lack of success. "Here's the door. Battle, murder, and sudden death—and an old chap like McClintock tuning his piano in the midst of it. So they fenced with smiles. He picked up the remote and sat himself to her right. You came out like an ant for your nuptial flight. But that possibility had been anticipated.
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