’ Lucy was silent for a space, once again wearing that inscrutable expression. Wood was so much exhausted that he was obliged to retire to his own room, where he continued for some hours overpowered by grief. ‘Go then. “Lucy! Where is my daughter? Where have you. ’ ‘Hadn’t the wit, you mean. ” “You would let him—knowing—all that you know?” “Why not? She is my flesh and blood. Certainly I cannot kill you if you tell me to do so. I spent agonizing weeks wandering Mantua in search of you, finally arriving at the idea of asking someone who you were. It was the day I borrowed a pencil; the day we first spoke to one another.
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