’ *** It must have been fate, Gerald decided, near an hour later, staring intently at the closed French windows on the raised alcove that led out to the terrace. There was a man, a boy, and a woman. 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. On the next morning—Sunday—the day on which he expected his mother's funeral to take place, he set out along the Harrow Road.
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