"I beg your pardon," he cried; "but really—ha! ha!—you must excuse me!—that is so uncommonly diverting—ha! ha! Do let me hear it again?—ha! ha! ha!" "Upon my word," rejoined Wood, "you seem vastly entertained by my misfortunes. Her companion was a person of no inferior condition. “Indeed, no,” he answered. “You blithering idiot!” he exclaimed. “What happened to your parents, Lucy? Is it all right if I ask?” Lucy looked at her with a soft gaze. 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. You really ought not to stay here and talk to us.
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