The sun was rising, illuminating the trees in black as if they were drawn in ink. “Home, of course,” she answered. 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. She didn’t choose her man. That dress! Only a man—and an unworldly one—would have permitted you to proceed on your adventure dressed in a gown thirty years out of date. She addressed an envelope to Ramage, and scrawled on a half-sheet of paper, “The rest shall follow. "I cannot—will not suffer you to remain here. His voice propelled her to cry even harder, so hard that she began to laugh behind her tears. My name is Wild— Jonathan Wild.
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