Eh bien, they would see about this. I can esteem him, regard him; but, love him as he ought to be loved—that I cannot do. “I remember,” she said, “that the first night I saw you, you spoke of my sister as your friend. 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. For thirty years I have lived alone; but once upon a time I lived among men.
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