The wound lay open for five seconds, and then closed neatly as if it had been stitched by invisible hands. Something in her voice and manner conveyed an effect of unwonted gravity to him. Then her white teeth gleamed, and her excuse for remaining any longer before that little marble table was gone. " "A promise to my mother?" said Winifred, unsuspiciously. 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.
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