" When Spurlock had finished the tale, touched here and there by his own imagination, McClintock made a negative sign. 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. It was a queer little bed-sitting-room almost in the roof, with a partition right across it. “I’ll come to the station,” said Ann Veronica. A long shrill cat-call in the gallery seemed to be the signal. ” “Uh. ’ ‘By all means,’ agreed Lucy at once, and ignoring the automatic protest that issued from Roding’s lips, she threw a command over her shoulder as she turned to go. Come and see him, Lucia. Lucy thought of a song that she had not been able to get out of her head since the Fifties. I did it in self-defence. And Gerald— Melusine swallowed on an unaccountable lump in her throat.
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