The infant’s body, now missing its pulverized head, was still twitching among the blood-soaked ruins of corpses. Her tone was icy. “Delusion!” “You can call it what you like,” she said. He was a civil servant of some standing, and after a previous conversation upon aesthetics of a sententious, nebulous, and sympathetic character, he had sent her a small volume, which he described as the fruits of his leisure and which was as a matter of fact rather carefully finished verse. She was the type that people of every age gravitated to, naturally affable and kind to everyone. The Plague raced through the city and the Palazzo, consuming it like fire.
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