Chapter Seven ‘Oh, my God,’ burst from Gerald. . ” “Coffee! Bah!” The newcomer picked her way across the floor with daintily uplifted skirts, and subsided into a deck chair of stretched canvas. She closed her eyes and felt again an echo of the swamping warmth that had attacked her when his lips met hers. 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. The brown house, almost exactly the same as the Beck’s, turned black as pitch in the gloom. No matter how swiftly he pursued this riddle, he could not bring it to a halt. I didn’t understand before that letter. I spoke a thought aloud. She drank it obediently.
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