She used to play violin, you know. They were at the corner of Pall Mall now, and had come to a standstill. She recalled how she had stretched out her arms toward the magic blue horizon. More strange stories were told of it than of any other house in London. She had to resist an impulse of sheer terror, to run out after them and give in. The sky beyond was a surreal color of pink that reminded her of the windows she had once been entranced by at the castle chapel, their leaden lines depicting old religious stories and sufferings. It was ten feet long, a relic.
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