Both arm-chairs had been moved a little so as to face each other on either side of the fender, and in the circular glow of the green-shaded lamp there lay, conspicuously waiting, a thick bundle of blue and white papers tied with pink tape. I used to go by the name Lucy Iovelli, which was my natural father’s surname. That ring manifestly occupied her thoughts a great deal. The black clad students streamed slowly to their positions carrying their instruments like offerings to the pilgrimage.
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