And instead of accepting the situation gratefully, he felt vaguely hurt! One evening in September a proa rasped in upon the beach. “Of course we go to school. I see that I am a beast—I beg your pardon, bête—and an imbecile, and an idiot. The hard work will be his, until we yank this young fellow back from the brink. 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. Then, even as they stood there, the room was plunged into darkness.
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