’ The girl nodded understandingly. And he unsheathed his sword. She loved the market, the horses trotting about, the bishops forced to be on the same road with old washer-women, the fools begging for a Florin or a ducat. One swift glance about the room, and a sensation of grim foreboding swept through him. “You knew it,” he added, in her momentary silence. “She must have character. Who could guarantee a safer existence outside Florence? That Sebastian seemed to have a weird immunity to the Pestilence was a trait that went unquestioned, unanswered. .
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