. ” “He only heard this afternoon,” Sydney continued. What of Gosse, whom those soldiers had allowed to escape? Hiding—or perhaps gone. . . 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 intruder was handsomely, even richly, attired in a scarlet riding-suit, embroidered with gold; a broad belt, to which a hanger was attached, crossed his shoulders; his boots rose above his knee, and he carried a laced hat in his hand. It was obvious that he had waited for her. She was very pale, and there was a look of fear in her eyes.
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