’ ‘Why did you not claim it yourself?’ asked Gerald. ” She glared at Sebastian over the drawing table where she was sketching in chalk, then over at the fifteen year old boy who was asleep in a disheveled pile of rushes in the corner. 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. And I'll have supper with you. The horse-soldiers wheeled round and cleared a path: the foot closed in upon the cart. ‘I kissed you once, didn’t I?’ Her pulses jumped and she stared. Its cavernous expanses equaled the upstairs of the house. She hated to leave; for this hour would be the most interesting. When I examined you for ‘ill humors’ I longed to run my hands over your entire body, to touch your face, to caress you in the places that would give you pleasure. An early bird clarinetist burst through in a long black skirt, swishing like a bell. Who is the other?” “What other?” Her voice seemed to come from a long way off.
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