” Brendon laughed softly. 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. ‘Do you need an excuse?’ ‘Oh, you know what doctors are. Her finger-nails dug into her flesh. "I'm come to say good bye to you, and to assure you of my safety before I leave this place. “Have to take your turn,” he remarked laconically.
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