“How’s the star?” John’s father asked. Lucia confined herself to her quarters, wondering when they would flee to the country as so many other houses had done. She laughed as the deluge seemed to grow worse with every step. “I am one who controls most of the Church, dear. Was there anything he could do! "No, Hoddy; nothing. But at the word “home” she turned again. Fame of any sort was folly and she knew better. “You are so sweet, Lucy. They were ingenious disguises of gilt paper destructively gummed, it would seem, to Ann Veronicas’ best dancing-slippers. The wind blew in fitful gusts, and scattered the yellow leaves from the elms and horse-chestnuts. There's the paragraph.
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