‘Leave it, imbecile. They are our food, Lucia, nothing more. Earles declared good-humouredly, “but I shall not let you go without drinking a glass of wine to our success. Prudence twinkled at them, and reached out to pat Melusine’s hand. The Plague raced through the city and the Palazzo, consuming it like fire. Still—you must learn for yourself. Nobody will ever know what the fleas thought. Having accomplished his intent, Gerald let the lad go and had himself driven back to Stratton Street. My name is Ferringhall—Sir John Ferringhall.
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