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. Annabel was conscious then of the slow anger which had been burning within her since the night of her visit to the “Unusual. Of this man Kneebone resolved to go in pursuit; and leaving Jack in charge of the constable, he proceeded to the small inn,—which bore then, as it bears now, the name of the Six Bells,—where, summoning the hostler, his steed was instantly brought him, and, springing on its back, he rode away at full speed. With the aid of a penknife he ripped the shoulder seams and drew out the ten one-thousand dollar bills. He stopped, panting hard, slamming his cane to the floor to make use of its much-needed support. Always as black and bitter as gall. Only Gwen left a letter on the pincushion. I have—run away. Wood.
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