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175 “Before you tell me the whole story,” she emphasized the penultimate word, “just let me do something for you. 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. Snatching-up his pistols, he rushed to the door, but to his horror found it fastened. 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.
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