‘Monsieur Charvill thought perhaps that his daughter would find not a welcome. 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. “I opened my eyes, and she was bending over my bedside. “Please forgive me—for one moment,” she sobbed. He likewise gave directions that in the after part of the day a whole bullock should be roasted on the green and distributed, together with a barrel of the strongest ale. Anna lets the deception continue and has to bear the burden of her sister’s reputation which, in Paris at any rate, is that of being a coquette. ‘Though he didn’t mean it. ’ The lady uttered a scornful sound.
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