She had never understood how much knowledge had been kept from her because she was a woman and even began to doubt the methods of the Church, something she never would have dared before. The Wastrel—as we call him—cannot play when he's sober; hands too shaky. That was the wonder of these stories; one lived in them. " "I should like a little of that plum-tart," said Mrs. ‘Certainly no one will find it. 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 is you who will get the head blown off,’ threatened the young lady fiercely. The latter no sooner beheld him than he dashed hastily into an adjoining room.
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