” “You are going to speak to me of things which happened before we met in London?” she asked quietly. 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. It was enough that she witnessed it and could not go to him. ’ Jack blinked. A shudder rippled across his shoulders. No; she'd never go back. ‘And why not?’ ‘Because,’ Gerald said matter of factly, ‘convent-bred jeune demoiselles do not commonly know how to handle either pistols or daggers.
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