Her mother tried to soothe her with tales of romance and love, of all the fineries that she would enjoy in the Palazzo, but all Lucia could do was cry until her cheeks twitched and her forehead ached. “Even if he lives here you may go all your life and never come face to face with him again. We were talking about the suffrage—and I rather scoffed. It was now getting dusk, and he could only imperfectly distinguish the features and figure of the stranger. It felt wonderful and golden to bask in the sunlight of their approval, even if their approval was fickle and dangerous. When first brought under consideration, she was a miserable and forlorn object; squalid in attire, haggard in looks, and emaciated in frame. Gerald perhaps would know how to find him. “What has he to do with it?” “He was your sister’s master—her friend. ’ ‘Believe me, she wouldn’t have cared. "We have cured his obstinacy, you perceive," he added to Marvel.
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