“Don’t fence with me,” Anna cried fiercely. But the orchestra had never had a finer hour, and everyone was aware of it. Her eyes seemed to be looking backwards. An acute sense of living was in her veins, even the taste of her wine seemed magical. Rain pounded the tin roof, and waterfalls obscured the pavilion into its own private 91 chamber. Lucy’s solos were exquisite in their precision and expression.
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