” “It is you,” he cried, “you, who are talking folly, when you speak of friendship between you and me. Haven’t I ever told you about them?” Michelle asked. Lots of us are like that. 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. ” He hesitated, and went off at a tangent. All the sombre visions she had been pressing back, fighting out of her thoughts, swarmed over the barrier and crushed her. It has been a big night. Foolish compliments were tossed about like confetti.
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