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. That was the glorious if bewildering truth. Meanwhile, the executioner had attached strong cords to his ankles and wrists, and fastened them tightly to the iron rings. There was no sense in creating further difficulties for herself by arguing with the sergeant over her identity. Nothing else so quickly establishes the condition of comradeship as the sharing of a laughable incident. " "Don't hurry yourself," said Jonathan, "I'll wait for you here. ” Lucy said, already exhausted by her friend. He drew her closer. " "I don't understand you," replied Kneebone, in some confusion.
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