Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes bright. He began shoveling dirt over the bodies. 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. It would put the whole adventure on a broader and better footing; it seemed, indeed, almost the only possible way in which she might emerge from her rebellion with anything like success. Did he track her? She was unaware if he did. His food lay untouched about his plate. . A thing which had mystified her since childhood, a smouldering wonder why it should be, and until now she had never felt the urge to investigate. “It’s Ennison, isn’t it?” he exclaimed. “Let’s go in here. Even Capes had been for her merely an excitant to passionate love—a mere idol at whose feet one could enjoy imaginative wallowings.
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