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. My foster mom works there as a second job. "And now to dispose of our dead. "Then, of course, you must know. "I understand," she said. ” She turned her face to the fire, gripped her hands upon her elbows, and drew her thin shoulders together in a shrug. 148 “Sure. It was about—a question of what I might do or might not do.