He would always see the picture of the huge, raw-boned Dutchman, haranguing and thundering the word of God into the dull ears of South Sea Islanders, who, an hour later, would be carrying fruit penitently to their wooden images. 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. On the very day of which we write, namely, the 10th of June 1715, Bolingbroke and Oxford were impeached of high treason. Even now she could trace the outline of his shape behind the left-hand curtain. “I’m not the Devil. . I am not going to be a chorus girl, or even a super. It'll be your own fault if you don't soon get another and a proper young man into the bargain. Furiously, she dashed his hands away. Lucy loved orchestras, the bittersweet tinge of rosin dust that hung in the air, the way that the sun shone through filthy windows illuminating the marimbas with a storybook light.
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