They were wed in Florence, in the grandest cathedral she had ever seen, the Santa Maria del Fiore. That she was provoked by his interference was obvious. You understand me, Charcoal. A few seasons went by where he initiated her into the disgusting rituals of killing and eating human beings, a dark time where she pined for a rescuer who never arrived. She might scream until her voice failed; the natives would not come to her aid; they never meddled with the affairs of the whites. Her first orders were to summon the rest of her servants to make immediate preparations for her departure for Lancashire. There had been fusses and scenes dimly apprehended through half-open doors.
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