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I was always told my mother died the day I was born. 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 never asked questions; he never addressed his companions; and frequently he took off his cap and wiped his forehead. Under her feet lay intricate mosaics, and each warm hall was festooned in tapestries.

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