“What nonsense is this? What raving! My dear child, you DO live, you DO exist! You have this home. 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. A bobbing lantern, crossing the bridge—for she had not drawn the curtain—attracted her attention. And she would have to go tomorrow. And pouring the contents of a small powderflask into a bumper of brandy, he tendered him the mixture. And I don't want anything of yours destroyed, Hoddy. To these she added the wine and spirits directed, and when all was arranged looked inquisitively at her master.
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