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” He grabbed a sword from the wall of arms. He touched a long-standing sore, and Ann Veronica found herself vainly trying to explain—the inexplicable. He is here by your side. 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 kissed her fingers and grinned. Lucy savored the normalcy of the scene. She tried to imagine herself “getting something,” to project herself as sitting down at a desk and writing, or as returning after her work to some pleasantly equipped and free and independent flat.
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