" "You flatter me," smiled Sir James. With his chisel so fine, tra la! "There!" cried the boy, leaping from the stool, and drawing back a few paces on the bench to examine his performance,—"that'll do. 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. “I would like to go home,” she cried, “to please her. ‘My dear boy, your loyalty is misplaced. No trouble will ever come to your sister through me.
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