She held it down with the poker, looking nervously over her shoulder. 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. The Matriarchate! The Lords of Creation just ran about and did what they were told. Gently she raised his head and withdrew the coat from under the pillow. It slid off flimsily.
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