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. From head to foot he was attired in the fashionable garb of the young man of the moment. Jack had been touched in the morning, but he was now completely prostrated. Later, when the Reverend Henry Dolby entered the Spurlock room, his wife and daughter trailing amusedly behind him, and beheld the strained eagerness on the two young faces, he smiled inwardly and indulgently. ‘Here she is. I don't know what you have done; I don't want to know now. You desert your home; I throw up useful teaching, risk every hope in your career.
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