She held out both her hands. He strangled the infant, which slipped out of his hands and screamed. I don’t believe in the faults. Hitherto it had been qualified by her conception of all life as a compromise, by her new effort to be unexacting of life. 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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