" She paused. Was it a week ago? No, perhaps more. . Otherwise, every effort has been made to remain true to the author's words and intent. Will you please—Not now, or I must go. 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. Men have seen to that. That is, until I investigated Iovelli-Alberti in the Fourteenth Century!” They reached a part of the subdivision dubbed “The Treehouse”, a popular hangout for edgy teens who smoked joints in its foundation pits. There was a long silence between them. He did not want Ruth to see his own stricken countenance; nor did he care to see hers, ravaged by tears.
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