” “Perhaps I don’t. Ruth's gaze wandered from the printed page. " "May I look at it, Sir!" said Austin, stepping towards him. . “Mr. “I did it for love of you,” he said. 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. When the disillusion comes, when the fairy story ends, if she is blessed with children, she doesn't mind. It doesn’t matter. So far as I am concerned, I am just now a hopeless nonentity. She sat perfectly still, however. A brief feeling of empathy with Pottiswick passed through him.
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