. She had fled back to Florence quite intent on slitting the new bride’s throat. I snatched it up, pointed it blindly at him, and fired. She loved the market, the horses trotting about, the bishops forced to be on the same road with old washer-women, the fools begging for a Florin or a ducat. He looked eager and flushed and troubled. She killed every month, twelve a year, and was for all intents and purposes a serial killer of middle aged men. " "Can I have a word with you, master?" said Sheppard, approaching Wood. “I wish I didn’t swear. ‘Damn you, what’s the matter with you?’ he snapped in frustration. I’ll do it.
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