For some seconds of voluminous thinking they looked at the ring between them, and neither spoke. The tears were streaming down her face, her voice was thick with sobs. 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. For if Gerald had indeed gone to see this Prudence, it was better to wait for his report. He gripped the window-sill behind him. Balanced on his nose were enormous tortoise-shell spectacles.
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