“Agreed,” he said with queer exaltation, and his grip tightened on her hand. 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. “My dear friend,” she laughed, “not so tragic, if you please. Here's the——" "Let me have one," cried a servant maid, running across the street, and in her haste forgetting to shut the door,—"here's the money. " "Wonderful! It's an infernal shame. " "Is the poor lady alive?" asked Mrs.
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