It was the sing-song girl idea, magnified many diameters. 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. . "I cannot break my vow. She could feel Martin’s eyes boring into her as she entered the room, her own personal Farhat. She had asked about that already, and her father had replied, evasively: “We’ll have to see about that, little Vee; we’ll have to see about that. Marry, come up! I'm not so easily deluded.
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