Yet before she turned once more to resume her flight she schooled herself with an effort to look where it had happened. In the next place, she really had some pretensions to beauty. 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. But the survey was satisfactory, and she found herself presently in Room No.
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