Don’t leave me. He brightened as she took off her hood. She knew now that he never would. 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. For a time she could scarcely believe he was gone. “How would you prevent it?” she asked. Then he stood up and hailed a fiacre. His face was aquiline but sweet, the years had not yet taken the blush from his cheeks and his lips were similarly rubefacient. I have been waiting a long time for a family like them. “We are to begin our married life to-night—here where I first met you. A florid-looking young woman rose up and accosted him eagerly. Our ideal had fallen.
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