Lucy, would you like to be my date for the silly little dance they call the Junior Prom?\" There was a pregnant pause as she digested the information. "Then, the story of his death was false. From then until four in the afternoon there was nothing to do—the whole island went to sleep. There was a pint of champagne and a quart of mineral water (both taboo) at his elbow. 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. I tell you that I love you, Anna, and I believe that you love me.
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