The class laughed, a few putting their hands to their foreheads in a military salute to mock her. 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. In her usual style, she interviewed him for his life and was pleased that he liked nothing more than to talk about himself. It was his turn to express astonishment. Did you break my mother's heart as you tried to break mine? I am no longer accountable to you for anything. . ‘You know?’ ‘Come, come, Melusine.
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