His complexion was pale; and there was something sinister in the expression of his large black eyes. It is I who am persecuted by the man who calls himself your husband. 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. Would Gerald wish his friend to follow the man? He had hardly registered the decision that he had best do so, albeit with some reluctance, when his trained senses alerted him to an extraordinary circumstance.
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