The reply he received this time put him into a state of continuous bewilderment. “I believe she’s dressing up-stairs—now. ‘You are not sympathique in the very least. 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. The visitors, when they entered, looked thoroughly intimidated and Everett concealed a grim smile. She let Jack go as he passed through the opening. 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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