And yet, she would be easy prey in her present state of mind to any plausible, attractive scoundrel. “They all catch on,” she said. Her old nurse’s hands returned the pressure. 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. And now she was witnessing or observing the complicated machinery of civilization through which they had come, at length to land on the beach of her island. She stole the opportunity to peer at his departing figure from the closed curtains of the front room window, his shoulders slumped forward, his posture and his ego slightly deflated.
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