Her time and effort was justly rewarded, because the hard cold facts she knew about neighborhood intrigues were better than fictional soap operas. 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. ’ Melusine nodded. " "Didn't the natives have a name for you?" She blushed. " "Let me have them. " "Well, you'll have lots of time down there.
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