’ ‘I thought you were dead,’ Melusine confided. He tasted like cinders and ash, but not of smoke. 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. John’s father added cheerfully, “So, do you play any violin?” She balked at the stereotype, but admitted, “Yes, I play violin. ” He said. " Mechanically raising the potion to her lips, the poor creature swallowed it without hesitation.
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