‘Do you tell me that my disreputable son had the infernal insolence to pass you off as that whoring Frenchwoman’s daughter?’ His answer was in their faces. "By my shalvation, boy," he added, fiercely, "if you don't take your hande off my peard, I'll sthrangle you. 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. Only her face was clear, frail and delicate, almost flower-like, with the sad haunting eyes ever watching his. ’ ‘No, perhaps not,’ Gerald agreed with a smile.
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