But it was clear she was in no mood for Teddys. 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’ve had a headache all day. The candle was shaking in his hand as Ruth appeared in the doorway. “I mean to,” she replied. In short, more preparations were made than if a state criminal was about to be executed. The Enschede Bible—the one out of which she read—had been strangely mutilated. She was her mother’s child, fair of face, doted upon and spoiled by her attentions.
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