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. ’. ’ She seemed to recollect herself suddenly. The woollen-draper was no despicable trencherman in a general way; but his feats with the knife and fork were child's sport compared with those of Mr. Whatever he wrote he was: he became this or that character, he suffered or prospered equally. ’ I said.
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