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. Her hair, once red, faded to a thin gray that she kept cut into a practical short bob. The place was gloomy, with its darkly panelled walls, but it was sparsely furnished. "Has Jack displeased you? If so, overlook his fault this once. ‘Well, nothing,’ uttered her betrothed crossly, before Gerald could answer. ‘I do not believe you.
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