’ Chapter Six Creeping along the dark narrow passage, with lantern held well ahead to keep her step steady on the uneven stones—and to warn her of the advent of rats— Melusine kept her long petticoats fastidiously clear of the dirt with an efficient hand, a habit she had learned in the convent. ‘Been led up the garden path by that confounded rapscallion. 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. He misstated her age and address; but you can’t get home on him for a thing like that. Does that boy live in some sort of personal cave? Like, I think he might even be thinking about asking you out again! That is what I think.
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