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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. Mr. ’ Gerald suppressed a grin. Her eyes followed him. Gerald realised Lucy had taken the hint, for she dragged her betrothed towards the door. E. Wood had retired to his own room, where he had just summoned Thames. Without a word or a gesture, the Wastrel turned and staggered forth, out of the orbit of these two, having been thrust into it for a single purpose already described.
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