They said no more for a moment, and each was now acutely aware of the other. Her aunt arrived about halfpast ten, in black and with an unusually thick spotted veil. “I had a visit from Sir John in my rooms,” she said. “Ciao, Fragolina. The only thing that was louder to her was the beating of his heart. Hang the wench! Roding was right. One peculiarity she did not fail to notice. “Do you think you’ll ever get married, Lucy?” Lucy shifted uncomfortably as she pulled her makeshift nightgown—an old T-shirt—over her head. And now, my love," she added, with a relenting look, "I'm content to make up our quarrel.
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