. Above the work-table was a drop-light—kerosene. Her thoughts took words for themselves. At the bottom of the trunk I found two of my mother's dresses. 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. ‘Very inventive. At least, you are one, and I am disguised like one. The turnkey looked round the next moment, but the manoeuvre escaped his observation. ‘Where is Gérard?’ ‘Out of town,’ Hilary said briefly.
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