He gave her one of the sweaty red cans. “And yet I wonder whether the world ever held such another enigma in her sex. 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. She bound a scarf tightly round the place where the blood seemed to be coming from. Thank you for the books. Gianfrancesco stumbled belatedly onto the beach, his feet padding wet sand.
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