. 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. ‘How is this? Proo-den-ss. ” “You’re leaving, aren’t you?” He accused. They almost made me feel like they were mine. Leastways, not on your own. The doll she had never owned, the cat and the dog that had never been hers: here they were, strangely incorporated in this sleeping man. She visualized him as in a policeman’s uniform and quite impassive. I don’t think we’re altogether to blame if we don’t take some of your lot seriously.
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