” They entered the place, a pleasant little café of the sort to be met with in the outlying parts of Paris. But when she was thinking it over in her room that evening vague and baffling doubts came drifting across this conviction. “You must not think of me as 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. He was silent. Tears began to stream from her cheeks. " On a shelf was placed a row of paint-jars; the contents of which had been daubed in rainbow streaks upon the adjacent closet and window sill. "I must tell you," she was saying. “Okay.
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