But she wished she could put the thing she had done in some way to them so that it would not hurt them so much as the truth would certainly do. " "Wait a bit, massa," replied the grinning negro,—"lilly bit—see all right fust. “You see, I will take your arm. Ramage. A hollow feeling opened up inside her, and she felt her heartbeat quicken. 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. Wait!" He released himself from his aunt's embrace, ran to the trunk and fetched the old coat.
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