The gate was opened; the coffin brought into the churchyard; and Jack, whose eyes were filled with tears, saw Mr. You're always complaining that you can't keep anybody more than three months. A hush descended across the audience as instruments tuned, creating small ladders of fifths that collapsed abruptly, snatches of solos that disappeared and reappeared like gags in a house of mirrors. In the subdued light she could not tell whether he was asleep or awake. Like the Valades, I imagine.
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