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. Wood struck me a blow which made me a robber. . ’ She shuddered, throwing her hands over her face. “Really it is very kind of you to have found me out. The poor wretch, driven by desperation to the commission of a crime which her soul abhors, is no more beyond the hope of reformation than she is without the pale of mercy. . ” She laughed gaily—and she had a way when she laughed of throwing back her head and showing her beautiful white teeth, so that mirth from her was a thing very much to be desired. This is a mere boy. That's worth something to me; for I don't mind paying for revenge.
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