“I thought we had discussed that, father. Melusine did not try to fight her captor, for that would only make him angry. 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. At the corner of Liquorpond Street stood the old Hampstead coach-office; and, on the night in question, a knot of hostlers, waggoners, drivers, and stable-boys was collected in the yard. ‘I don’t want him having an apoplexy in this house. I proved myself early as an athlete, skills I retained long after my return home.
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