You have never known what it is to want food, raiment, shelter. She took up one of her father’s novels and put it down again, fretted up to her own room for some work, sat on her bed and meditated upon the room that she was now really abandoning forever, and returned at length with a stocking to darn. ‘What has that to say to anything?’ ‘Nothing at all,’ smiled Lucy nervously. Who could guarantee a safer existence outside Florence? That Sebastian seemed to have a weird immunity to the Pestilence was a trait that went unquestioned, unanswered. Her lips parted, but no words came.
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