She fought the inclination for a while, then surrendered. 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 first to last, on this occasion, her aunt expostulated for about two hours. ‘That will be a matter for her future husband to decide. Annabel is my only sister, you know, almost my only relative. It would be an ice storm by midnight if it did not let up. “Listen, Annabel,” he said hoarsely. “I am sick of it. That really settles about that. ’ ‘Please forgive, milor’, but my wife, and even I myself, have yet very much trouble with English.
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