His looks were fixed on his old benefactor. “Diedermayer’s a kiss-ass. ‘There’s a surgeon on his way, and my men are under orders to do whatever is needful. Lucy could see the anger in her silhouette, the punishments and the grounding being formulated for the now dead daughter. 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. ’ ‘Your groom? What for?’ ‘Get him to wait outside. She thought that women were not made for the struggle and turmoil of life— their place was the little world, the home; that their power lay not in votes but in influence over men and in making the minds of their children fine and splendid.
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