” The shock of their intellectual attitude was over, usage robbed it of the first quaint effect of deliberate unreason. . ’ ‘You traitor, Gerald,’ laughed Lucilla, her yellow curls bouncing under a huge straw bonnet all over flowers. 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’s hated me for no apparent reason ever since Fourth Grade.
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