His father spoke for him. "I call this ere crib the Little-Ease, arter the runaway prentices' cells in Guildhall. The Plague raced through the city and the Palazzo, consuming it like fire. Fortescue rambled round the garden with soft, propitiatory steps, the Corinthian nose upraised and his hands behind his back, pausing to look long and hard at the fruit-trees against the wall.
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