" "You might trust me," said Rachel, in an offended tone; "but never mind. 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. Neither your aunt nor I have any other thought but what is best for you. "Where is it?" "Are you the mother of this child?" inquired the person who had first spoken, addressing Mrs. White’s compliments.
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