” “For the others,” Annabel said tearfully, “that is well enough. She would be enduing this chap with attributes he did not possess, clothing him in fictional ruffles. 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. Take my advice. Leaning upon a gate he looked down into the valley. " "Leave you!" echoed the ruffian, with a contemptuous laugh; "—not just yet.
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