She hoped that Shari would not be too brokenhearted about her disappearance. Winifred instantly picked it up. Then I threw a bucket of dirty water on his face and said, ‘Listen, asshole, let’s get one thing straight. The music took hold of her slowly as her eyes wandered from the indistinct still ranks of the audience to the little busy orchestra with its quivering violins, its methodical movements of brown and silver instruments, its brightly lit scores and shaded lights. You call it a lot of nicknames—“Babs” and “Bibs” and “Viddles” and “Vee”; you whack at it playfully, and it whacks you back.
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