“Dear John,” she whispered. She thought of leaving the Beck house less and less these days, though the suitcase remained packed underneath her creaky bed. He made it more and more evident to her that her proper course was not to earn a salary but to accumulate equipment. Everything was very neat; it had evidently been straightened up and kept for her. 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. She did not remember him, but he said that he had introduced himself to her when she was visiting the butcher's family. " "Your own was equally so," said Jackson ironically.
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