" "Lead the way to it then, Saint Giles," said Jack, in a tone of mock authority. “It is not that. “There are policemen—and buses. 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. Put him in the stocks, and there let him sleep off his drunken fit. But I must summon my janizaries. “You were talking to that fellow Ramage to-day—in the Avenue. This is altogether insupportable.
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