She loved the market, the horses trotting about, the bishops forced to be on the same road with old washer-women, the fools begging for a Florin or a ducat. As soon as they had got out, the vehicle was drawn up at the back of a tree near the cage. Surely he was imagining this picture. She stood, as it were, directed doorward, with her eyes watching every movement, listening to him, repelled by him and yet dimly understanding. Kneebone, he took his departure. She came to me in a dream. He looked at her, hurt. He seemed safe from the sickness, having been surrounded by the dying, he had witnessed the carnage up close and yet his health still prevailed. Me, I have a question for you first. She read voraciously, and presently, because of her aunt’s censorship, she took to smuggling any books she thought might be prohibited instead of bringing them home openly, and she went to the theatre whenever she could produce an acceptable friend to accompany her. ‘Cousin? But I am a fool.
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