At the cost of quite a number of torn drafts she succeeded in evolving this: “DEAR MR. 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. She saw, twenty yards down the platform, the shiny hat and broad back and inimitable swagger of Ramage. They embarked upon an open and declared friendship. But she had found it very difficult. She shrugged her shoulders. "A mother's prayers—a mother's blessings," she cried, with the fervour almost of inspiration, "will avail against a fiend's malice.
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