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. And besides—We’re going to live, Ann Veronica! Oh, the things we’ll do, the life we’ll lead! There’ll be trouble in it at times—you and I aren’t going to run without friction. Will you leave us for a few minutes?" "You are not going to be harsh?" "I wish to talk about the future. ‘That is why I have come to England, you understand. “One has to live and learn,” she remarked, with a passable imitation of her father’s manner. CHAPTER XVI.
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