\" Larry got up from his chair and trudged to the refrigerator, pouring himself a glass of milk from the never-ending supply of two percent. Taber is the name. His mother smiled in return, an act that brightened her thin face. “Would you mind calling that hansom for me?” He looked at it critically and shook his head. 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. At Boulogne they took train to Basle; next morning they breakfasted together in the buffet of that station, and thence they caught the Interlaken express, and so went by way of Spies to Frutigen. She ducked behind a pile of unused drywall. ’ The snaking suspicion rolled through his mind again.
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