“Ohmigod, Katy, you fucking killed her!” A trio of girls sniggered. In fact, one of them was downright sceptical. Without a word, the general reached out and took them, but his glance searched the girl’s 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. ‘You should be. She could still remember herself at age five, staring knives and daggers at the men who came into the small yarn shop, under pretense of business but really just to leer. The big gray spaces of London, the shop-lit, greasy, shining streets, had become very remote; the biological laboratory with its work and emotions, the meetings and discussions, the rides in hansoms with Ramage, were like things in a book read and closed. It was only a matter of time.
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