He was a civil servant of some standing, and after a previous conversation upon aesthetics of a sententious, nebulous, and sympathetic character, he had sent her a small volume, which he described as the fruits of his leisure and which was as a matter of fact rather carefully finished verse. Her cheeks flushed a dull red. The winter of 1348 seemed to last an eternity, but the Pestilence struck in one day. She looked away. She had even played in an opera by Verdi once, but had to dress as a boy to do it. Nothing can alter my determination. “I wish that I could forget it,” he said. Don’t be frightened, dear. It will not cost you more than six hundred to reach your destination.
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