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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. Ramage seemed always fencing about the forbidden topic, probing for openings, and she wondered why she did not give him them. I miss them so. The Wastrel wiped the blood from his forehead. " The patient was asleep. It was Martin, she could hear his heart beat.
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