But what the deuce! He was human; he was a machine only when on the hunt. He had promised her some books, for she had voiced her hunger for stories. ‘You’re right. The change in her face was not a pleasant one. 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. ’ You mean you hope you do, thought Gerald cynically. Anna sprang to her feet and made for the dressing-room door.
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