The fire—if there was any in him—never made headway against this insistant demand to know the significance of these manifold inward agitations. “I did everything I could to save your baby, Lucia, I have the medical knowledge to cure almost anything, but the Pestilence struck you too fast. Her eyes were lit with mirth, the corners of her mouth quivered. “I made two fruit pies and now I have no one to eat them. Certainly you have a reason. Papa doesn't even care, but he just goes along with whatever my Mom says. How she had coveted her mother’s beauty and sought to emulate it, if only to please her. .
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