The weed was all right. 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. Gerald saw her eyes change as she recognised him. She had never understood how much knowledge had been kept from her because she was a woman and even began to doubt the methods of the Church, something she never would have dared before. Even now she could trace the outline of his shape behind the left-hand curtain. "Lean on me," said Jack.
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