From what she could tell, he truly had convinced himself that he was in love with her, but she knew that his ardor would fade eventually inasmuch as she knew John’s would. John’s father piped up, bored with the conversation, and asked, “Where do you get your blue eyes, Lucy? What nationality are you?” “I’m mostly Italian, but I get my blue eyes from my mother, who was Gypsy. She was chic, distinguished, unusual. "But to drag this innocent child into the muck! With her head full of book nonsense—love stories and fairy stories! Have you any idea of the tragedy she is bound to stumble upon some day? I don't care about you. You are an artist by the Divine right of birth, but whatever form of expression may come to you at some time it will not be painting. But she did not bother her head very much about her relations with these sympathizers. "At my first being acquainted with the place," says this writer, in the 'Miseries of a Prison,' "the prisoners, methought, walking up and down the Stone Hall, looked like so many wrecks upon the sea. Then I assumed a rather portentous manner to prepare him. I love your very breath. Her curiosity was insatiable, her dreams filled with happy speculation over what hair color her babies would inherit. D'ye hear. . . He would have to sit down here in Canton and wait, perhaps for weeks.
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