Who were you looking for tonight? One of the émigrés? There were several in there. For her it was sufficient to know that somebody wanted her, that never again would she be alone, that always this boy with the dreams would be depending upon her. Her fingers clutched the side of the door as though to steady herself. 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. The eyes left him, searching beside the chair for her cane. Jonathan smiled contemptuously. You are captain of your soul; don't forget your Henley. ‘That’s just it.
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