A boy no older than she, Gianfrancesco’s cousin, whispered what he would like to do to her when she stole into the hallways near the women’s chambers to fix herself. But never had the hand touched her with a father's caress; never had he taken her into his arms; never had he kissed her. 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. Perhaps what urged her interest in the young man's direction was the dead whiteness of his face, the puffed eyelids and the bloodshot whites. " "But I was intoxicated!" "So was the man you just fought in this room. I shan't let you off a farthing.
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