She suspected that he would take a mistress just as soon as they returned to Florence. For a time she looked at no more apartments, and walked through gaunt and ill-cleaned streets, through the sordid under side of life, perplexed and troubled, ashamed of her previous obtuseness. To walk beside him, dressed akin to him, rucksacked and companionable, was bliss in itself; each step she took was like stepping once more across the threshold of heaven. But to go courting a slave-girl, at the risk of physical hurt! A shudder of distaste wrinkled her shoulders. ‘What Frenchman would that be, missie? We ain’t let no one escape.
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