“Get me some brandy and my bag. “Yes. Ruth felt his hand grow cold as it slipped from hers. ” “You don’t. ” “Yes,” said Ann Veronica. 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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