Marjorie Bowen Page 31
'Milan!' he sobbed.
De Lana bent down eagerly to catch a muttered prayer, but there was nothing more.
'Milan!'
The voices and shouts rose to a deafening pitch of confusion, the very air seemed fevered with excitement; a flock of startled doves flew past in panic, a rainbow of colour; flew so low and so close to de Lana as to blind him for a moment with the whirr of their wings, and in that moment was a terrible cry.
They passed, beating the lilies down.
'My lord!' cried de Lana. 'My lord!'
But even as he spoke, he knew Gian Visconti was dead.
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