As they left Florence, dying men and women still scrabbled through the streets, screams emanating from the rows of houses, beggars running up to the horses, sick children in their arms, their eyes bleeding, their noses running, begging to join them in their journey out. "It only leads to the fencing crib," replied Wild. He patted the hand on his sleeve. Annabel watched her with wide-open, terrified eyes. The curtains which she had left drawn were open, and the electric lights were turned on. Wood brought up.
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