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. “My dear Annabel,” she said, “this is delightful, but I thought that it was forbidden. All the jailers declared it utterly impossible he could have accomplished his astonishing task unaided; but who had lent him assistance was a question they were unable to answer. Using the shirt, she cleaned away the blood. Anna never knew whither it had led her— sometimes she had fears. .
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