" Mr. 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. Her husband had a great deal of respect for Sebastian as well. It was noon when the caravan reached the tower of the water-clock. To many in that crowded solitude it came as an extraordinary relief. Wait a moment. “That sounds so uncouth,” she murmured. She could feel his eyes surreptiously scanning her backside. The perfume was the only one she ever used. " "You don't have to.
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