" But Spurlock put up his guard. A white apron was tied round his waist, and into the apron was thrust a short thick truncheon, which looked very much like a rolling-pin. Odd, but he had never thought of the beach until this girl (who looked as if she had stepped out of the family album) referred to it with a familiarity which was as astonishing as it was profoundly sad. He looked half at her and half at the sky. She would end alone. Women are made like the potter’s vessels —either for worship or contumely, and are withal fragile vessels. 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. Lucia liked the doctor though, and he seemed to be very fond of her too. He stirred continually, thrusting his legs about and flinging his arms above his head. ’ Relaxing back, Gerald folded his arms.
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