"Get a chair, Austin. 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. "Your son is a lad of spirit, Mr. Mother—dear mother!" he added, clasping her in his arms, "Look at me again. ‘This is altogether insupportable!’ She dug a hand into the recesses of the petticoat of her riding habit and a moment later Gerald found himself once again confronting the barrel of her overlarge and tarnished pistol. You know the danger of this breakneck road as well as I do. But if we had gone under—!” They regarded one another silently, and Ann Veronica had one of her penetrating flashes.
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