He savored the last solo, the coda. I would speak with you. Beyond was a chaise longue, covered with cushions and shawls laid anyhow across it, together with a discarded tapestry in the making, and a scattering of woollen threads about it. The sea was no longer rolling brass; it was bluer than anything he had ever seen. It’s all very fine and all that, Vee, this freedom, but it isn’t going to work. . "I don't know what his idea was.
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