Be seated, and calm yourself. He would give The Tigress a triple coat of paint, and take these two on a long cruise, wherever they wanted to go—Roundhead and Seraph, the blunderbus and the flaming angel. 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. One’s sense of proportion, battered out of all shape in the daily life of cities, reasserts itself. In the second, she was wretchedly poor, and assailed by temptations of which you can form no idea. “So am I.
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