The white veil had fallen to the ground and Gerald retrieved it for her. “I’ve heard some even more entertaining news from the Orchestra grapevine too. ‘It needs not that you tell me. ‘What in Hades d’ye mean, thanks to me? Want to blame anyone, blame that rapscallion who calls himself your father. Sometimes the music would be tender and dreamy, like a native mother's crooning to her young; sometimes it would be so gay that the flesh tingled and the feet were urged to dance; again, it would be like the storms crashing, thunderous. A dry cough's the trumpeter of death. But the twins were so fucked over at that point they were zombies.
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