Sensitive, aren’t they?” She chuckled. She realized that no man had ever placed a mantle of respect upon her as Sebastian did; respect for more than just her pretty face and her now lost ability to bear children. " "Rely on me," rejoined the executioner, throwing away his pipe, which was just finished. I am very good at guessing names. “I think she would,” she decided. 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.
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