She vanished from the laboratory for a week, a week of oddly interesting days. You wanted to play a lone hand. The Bach Cantata was played fairly well, Sebastian thought, for a lot of children. She was particularly charmed by his theory of friendship. A young lad—Roding took him for a footman, or a groom by the neat black garb—was halted some paces away from Valade, his hat in his hand as he made pretence of fanning himself. Everybody breathed a collective sigh of relief in the neighborhood, no one wanted to see how those kids would grow up.
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