‘At last,’ he cried, ‘I have found you!’ He would listen to nothing. 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. Why? Because he knew that when these two young people left, the island would become intolerable. “I have noticed,” he said, “that you seem to delight in taking a topsy-turvy view of life. She touched bow to strings, playing a fifth.
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