“Oh, I am lonely,” she moaned. There is a small yewtree west of the church. " The doctor hesitated, puffing his tobacco hastily. “I WILL be arrested! I WON’T go home!” the little old lady was screaming over and over again. 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. The spinster saw herself growing warm again in the morning sunshine of youth —a flaring ember before the hearth grew cold. ’ She ended on a note of sheer frustration, clenched fists beating the air.
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