At the Palazzo she had been confined to her own sunny windowed quarters most of the time, but she had the entire run of the inside of the manor. The house was full of aunts, uncles, and cousins meandering about, stuffed until their seams and zippers were bursting. For heaven’s sake, give him some Madeira or something, Gerald! Anything to calm him down. It was Blueskin. ‘Because I’m a female,’ declared Lucilla unanswerably. Then suddenly with a rush came reality, came “growing up”; a hasty imperative appeal for seriousness, for supreme seriousness.
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