"I can't hold it much longer—it'll break my wrist. To his relief, she nodded. He seemed to deliberate. She realized dimly that there was no personal thing behind his cry, that countless myriads of Mannings had “My God!”-ed with an equal gusto at situations as flatly apprehended. 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. "Do you hear me?" cried the lady, with increasing vehemence. Some foul murder has been committed. "I will, when I catch him, rely on it," rejoined Wild.
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