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’d better not have all the money on you; you had better open a small account in the postoffice and draw it out a fiver at a time. I said I’d do anything. “Who’ll mind the baby nar?” was one of the night’s inspirations, and very frequent. “Wild horses—not if they have all the mounted police in London—shan’t keep me out. “The twins were left with his sister, Cris. Horrors abounded in every passageway as each turn could bring a vision of a poor woman running from her screaming plague-infested son or a bloated corpse of a rich man whose mouth lolled open, showing gaps where someone had pried out a few golden teeth.
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