Mr. “Hey,” he said, his eyes slowly adjusting to the soft blackness. 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 reminded him of his linnet, when he gave the bird the freedom of the house: it became filled with a wild gaiety which bordered on madness. ‘It is not possible. You represent to me an enigma, the solution of which has become the one desire of my life. I want you to think of me just as if I was a man, and quite outside marriage altogether.
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