What had Brewis Charvill to say to that, Gerald?’ ‘He had nothing to say to it. ’ *** It must have been fate, Gerald decided, near an hour later, staring intently at the closed French windows on the raised alcove that led out to the terrace. Their soft, voluptuous bodies wove among each other to the faint notes of a lyre. “A wonderful piece of work,” he declared. 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. “Let’s go outside.
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