There was no point in rushing into the long walk home. Then you may have a bit of a chance. “Really, Sir John,” she said, “I don’t know how to thank you. 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.
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