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. “And let us have a talk about this—some other time. She fell asleep instantaneously, fatigued from weeks of exhaustion. The fellow swore lustily, in a voice which Jack instantly recognised as that of Quilt Arnold, and vainly attempted to rise and draw his sword. She tiptoed to the stand and gathered up the manuscripts which she carried to a chair by the window.
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