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. . ‘Give me my pistol!’ Gerald shook his head, slipping the pistol into his pocket. His eyes caught at hers with passionate inquiries. “Who wouldn’t be for you?” The train began to move. Wood—and after him came his daughter. After he had eaten dinner with Ruth, he had gone to McClintock's; and he had heard music such as he had heard only in the great concert halls. ‘Monsieur Charvill,’ pursued Valade, ‘has left the chateau, and since we have heard from him nothing at all, but for the letters to his daughter from Italy. In this spy theory, however, he had no faith whatsoever.
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