She loved Florence, wandering the huge markets which bustled day and night. ‘I trust you are cursing Valade, and not Melusine. Horrors abounded in every passageway as each turn could bring a vision of a poor woman running from her screaming plague-infested son or a bloated corpse of a rich man whose mouth lolled open, showing gaps where someone had pried out a few golden teeth. Drive away the cat; throw that measure of gin through the window; and tell me why you've not so much as touched the packing-case for Lady Trafford, which I particularly desired you to complete against my return. "I've set a trap for him. All this was exciting and entertaining.
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