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" "Well, Sir," gasped Mrs. ‘Ain’t enough as my bed is took, my sheets all bloodied, and my gin took for to waste on that fellow’s wound. But if you wish to do old Wood a friendly turn, you may bring his wife. ‘May I, indeed? I’ll take you up on that. The stairs creaked as Mark rushed down them. At length she hit upon it: bubbling water. 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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