"Write as I dictate," he cried, placing a pen in the jailer's hand and a pistol to his ear. ” He greeted her. 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 paused and looked at her, and said, with a sudden drop into a confidential undertone, “Or else I want to pray. She 191 picked up the remote, usurping it of its dividing status between their bodies.
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