Section 2. It seemed to her that it was her duty to get up and clamor to go home to her room, to protest against his advances as an insult. 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. She looked in the glass over and over as she checked for lint and makeup streaks. Sir Cecil, who with Rowland and some others had entered the room rushed to the window with a torch. How came you by the hurt, eh?" "How did I come by it?—that's a nate question. I keep my finger on the pulse of things. We are very poor, but manage to squeeze a little happiness out of each day. He had done it.
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