By the time they had sailed half way around the Mediterranean and seen the sinks and stews of every state along the way, Miranda had to admit that mankind no longer looked quite so beauteous.
The hideous mass of humanity, the sheer surfeit of novelties, had overwhelmed all of her ability to appreciate them and was creating an unfamiliar and growing dislike of it.
By the time they had arrived at Naples, via Milan, she no longer batted an eyelid to see the strange faces and great splendours of her new home.
She looked out of the carriage that took them from the harbour to the palace, further and further from the sea.
Beyond the crowds that lined their way and showered them with cheers, good wishes and posies, her eye couldn’t help but catch other people; the crones bent double with piles on their backs,
the men dragging carts, their faces smeared with sweat and mire, and her stomach fluttered with an unpleasant memory. They all looked so sad.
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