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. It was the first expression of the mother's blood. They thought that she was her own mother. “You would believe that life is kindled by the passions alone. My dear—I can call you that here, anyhow—I know that. “My brother’s room when he comes home.
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