They were sitting alone, Lucy. Over here a man quickly loses faith, and I find myself back on solid ground once more. 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. “No man can realize,” she said, “what that pit can be. Every other wall comprised bookcases, except where the doors appeared.
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