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. You fooled me this morning; but I overheard two old maids talking about you and the young man. He dined, and then pleaded a political engagement. She had omitted that the flu had been called the Black Death and that it was a dead child that had been inside that womb, so many hundreds of years ago. ” “I suppose all IS well that ends well.
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