She seemed bursting with the desire to talk, and watching for her opportunity. “There ought to be a Censorship of Books. I think we rest here until to-morrow?” There was a brief silence. She wore a wonderful dress of turquoise blue, made by a great dressmaker for a function which she knew very well now that she would never attend. White became conscious of a distinct sense of uneasiness, and showed it in her face. 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. ‘Didn’t mean it, love.
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