“Come,” she said. 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. He rested on one elbow. If he recovers he may not accuse her. “Don’t fence with me,” Anna cried fiercely. We meant to make it dinner and a theatre, but you were not home.
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