“Why not?” he exclaimed. From the further end of the apartment came the low music of a violin. ‘Wait! At least tell me where I can find you. Ann Veronica had come down thinking of nothing in the world but her inflexible resolution to go to the dance in the teeth of all opposition. ‘You are really not helping matters, my friend. 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.
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