“I can see you and Anna groaning and nodding your grave heads together. Should be home soon. It comes over the mountains, Anna, pink darkening into orange red, everywhere a wonderful cloud sea, scintillating with colour. She stopped abruptly, and looked in a flower-shop window. "Ay, Sir, from the Secretary of State, for your arrest! You're charged with hightreason. He thrust out a rhetorical 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. Or was that perhaps because his business in Piccadilly the other day had gone awry? Perhaps Brewis Charvill had not welcomed him with open arms.
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