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Gianfrancesco took her that night gently, for which she was glad. Anything. Nothing but the publicity of the place and the recollection of that terrible constituency kept him from attempting some perfectly respectful but unmistakable evidence of his sympathy. Brown gushed conservatively about the orchestra, letting the audience know about the recording engineers and how proud he was of Martin Chen. The ticket line filtered slowly into the glass doors, growing louder and more boisterous by the minute. Yet she never once thought of changing it. He introduced her as his \"friend\" Lucy. There is no Heaven for your mother.
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