At this time of day the priest would be at his apartments in Brewer Street, a short walk away from Golden Square which the building overlooked. Lucia confined herself to her quarters, wondering when they would flee to the country as so many other houses had done. "Then you ought to be thankful to me for the warning. Why had he glanced up—quite in that way?. She turned and looked at the red LED of the alarm clock that read 3:55. In all his life he had never realized a dream; but the thought had never before hurt him. Away off in the fields the bluesmocked peasants bent still at their toil. Like the Valades, I imagine.
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