The jazz band was playing something fast and desperate in the room next door,...
She had been back from Paris for six months and already felt like she had never left. "Clara." She didn't turn around. She knew the voice—the slight warble at the end of words, like a piano string that had been tightened one turn too far. Nicholas. "Hello," she said. "Are you going to stand there all evening or are you coming up?" "I was waiting for you to notice I was here." Clara turned. He...
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