Ann Veronica wondered what her father would do if she were to tell him the full story of her relations with Ramage. And yet, often when alone, he wondered: had McClintock been wrong, or had she ceased to care in that way? The possibility that she no longer cared should have filled him with unalloyed happiness, whereas it depressed him, cut the natural vanity of youth into shreds and tatters. A couple of gilt straight-backed chairs only. ‘But for now, I’m taking you home. 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. In the middle there was a gate.
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