That is what terrified her: the consciousness that nothing in her life would be continuous, that she would no sooner form friendships (like the present) than relentless fate would thrust her into a new circle. "Surely," she said, after a pause, "you don't attach any importance to what my mother has just said. It has been a real honeymoon trip, Annabel, for I feel that it has given me a wife. 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. Come along, my Newgate bird!" he continued, shaking him with great violence.
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