Why? Love was a word of God's, and yet her father had denied it—denied it to the Book, denied it to his own flesh and blood. “I will make of the days and weeks one long morning, but remember the afternoon must come. ” His eyes were squeezed shut. 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. "In Canton. ” “You weren’t rude,” she said.
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