This was enough for the poor widow. She found a little difficulty in beginning. The dance itself was anticlimactic, with teenagers trying their best to look the part of adult sophisticates on the dance floor. ‘Parbleu, how you make me talk!’ ‘Your secret is safe with me, I promise you,’ Gerald said reassuringly. But here,—even here, the demon was suffered to intrude, and Jack's thoughts were distracted by Jonathan Wild, who stood at a little distance from him, and kept his bloodthirsty eyes fixed on him during the whole of the service. 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 was mad.
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