Lady Lescelles, graceful, very fashionably but quietly dressed, leaned back and watched her with shrewd kindly eyes. She had paid her bill, and she had enough left in her purse to pay many such. 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. Michelle looked at her pathetically. He grunted a little with effort, and she realised the gilt frame must be heavy. ‘I know you, Gerald. He seemed safe from the sickness, having been surrounded by the dying, he had witnessed the carnage up close and yet his health still prevailed. “My Mom makes more money than my Dad, a lot more.
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