As concertmaster, it was Lucy’s duty to seat the orchestra as well as tune them. “Oh, I am lonely,” she moaned. You may enjoy your pride, your arrogance—in a coffin. She could not judge its direction, and began to move swiftly along the bookshelves, her hand running behind her across the spines of the calfbound volumes. She found pieces of it on the blacktop near the green dumpster, amazingly small pieces considering the fabric’s original heft.
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