It slipped out—as did that “she”. He seemed to be thinking hard. ’ ‘Why the devil should you be interested, I should like to know?’ rejoined Roding. As they left Florence, dying men and women still scrabbled through the streets, screams emanating from the rows of houses, beggars running up to the horses, sick children in their arms, their eyes bleeding, their noses running, begging to join them in their journey out. “He fancied that he did,” she corrected him coolly. She dare not risk it. And, if ever I'm brought to the gallows, I shall lay my death at her door.
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