He looked at her with an expression of comical despair. 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. ‘He don’t mean you no harm. Miss Moffatt, the history and moral instruction mistress, was particularly explicit upon this score, and they all agreed in indicating contempt and pity for girls whose minds ran on such matters, and who betrayed it in their conversation or dress or bearing. But you could have just as easily lost your womb in the Pestilence, and your life. I do not say guest because that suggests friendship; and I am no friend of this Wastrel. And, stretching out his hand, he lifted the dark object from the flood.
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