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’s the perpetual trouble,” he said, “of parent and child. Over the sea of heads arose a black and dismal object. The thought caused him an odd kind of pang—of pity, naturally. " "You're a damn fool, too!" exploded the trader. ” “I wonder how he treated Gwen.
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