“I looked for you on the way home from The Big Apple, where were you?” Lucy smiled. After all, what did it matter?—it or anything else in the world? She was within reach of his arms, beautiful, compelling, herself as it seemed suddenly conscious of the light which was burning in his eyes. For some time he could not stir, but felt sick and exhausted. He was in evening dress: swallow-tailed coat and white tie. 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.
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