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. Anna’s face was half turned from him, but her expression, and the tone of her monosyllable puzzled him. 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. What he needed was not a food but a flavour; and the cocoanut taste of the chestnuts soothed his burning tongue and throat. They parked a block away from Michelle’s house in the opposite direction of where the Beck’s lived.
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