Few men could have done as much. 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. She felt she must suffocate if these men did not put her down, and for a time they would not put her down. “So, just how many foster homes were you in before the coming to live here?” “You don’t want to hear about all of that, Michelle. To his consternation, she was holding an unwieldy, ugly-looking pistol, all wood and tarnished steel, with both hands about the butt.
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