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. ‘Where are you taking me?’ she asked, assuming a fearful accent. It was a young girl who overheard me when I was on my third shopkeeper who answered my question. “What can you do?” she asked. I want to be a human being; I want to learn about things and know about things, and not to be protected as something too precious for life, cooped up in one narrow little corner. And I get myself dirty. ‘Who kills who?’ ‘Rot in hell,’ he snarled, panting, and managed to push himself forward and leap off the dais, running for the safety of the far aisle by the wall. You're in luck to-night, widow. Oh, you must believe me.
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