‘I don’t want a list of all the nuns resident in your wretched convent. 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. ” “You are not a coward,” she repeated, “or you would not be my friend. His glance swept up again and found her staring at him with much of her usual defiance, if a touch less of her customary assurance. A little smothered cry broke from her lips—the curtains were thrown aside and a man stepped out. ‘You will have to prove it, you know,’ Gerald said quietly. ” “Who are you?” “I am a friend of Miss Pellissier’s,” Courtlaw answered.
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