Their conversation was conducted in the flash language, and, though unintelligible to Wood, was easily comprehended by this companion, who learnt, to her dismay, that the wounded man had received his hurt from her son, whose courage and dexterity formed the present subject of their discourse. He was astonished. 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. They’re just all men, and no one is safe from scandal. “I think this ends the business,” he said, turning to his sister. Remember?’ ‘Parbleu,’ came from his still struggling victim. You bring me this grandfather, whom you know well I do not in the least wish to see, for I have told you so.
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