“The conventions do not matter one little bit. ‘Good. The palanquin is hired and so is the procession. Fortescue?” “At your service. " "Zounds! David Pugh, don't you know your old friend and countryman?" exclaimed the carpenter. It was in another world from that in which men will die for a kiss, and touching hands lights fires that burn up lives—the world of romance, the world of passionately beautiful things. 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.
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