No, never mind about thanking me. He was leaning against a window frame, his hat in his hand. She guessed Jack was having trouble finding the right piece of carving. Sir Rowland laid his hand upon his sword. 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. He offered me at once an engagement.
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