But if she smiled at all it was with her eyes. Sepulchre's clock struck eight. It was a brief solitude, however. 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. He was no Hoddy, but a tremendous man, with hairy arms and bearded face and drink-shattered intellect.
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