Why? Love was a word of God's, and yet her father had denied it—denied it to the Book, denied it to his own flesh and blood. “Why won’t you sleep in my bed tonight, Lucia, where 80 it’s warm?” He asked her one night, teasing but mournful, as she stood in her bedroom doorway in a long white gown. “No. He became a little less en garde. ‘Has this capitaine of yours not yet rid us of this Emile? What can he find to say to him?’ ‘Don’t be impatient,’ Gerald said, rising too and coming to draw her away from the door. She agreed entirely with her brother.
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