” She stopped buttoning her glove, and looked at him. ‘Parbleu, I hope that I do not have many more times to come in this way to the house,’ she muttered fretfully. She knew that the next time he caught her she would not be able to free herself. 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 smiled on the last words, adding, ‘Oh, I don’t blame you for trying. I have not found the secret way into the house, for instance. The dog was, in a sense, a gift of the gods.
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