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. ” “You can’t be that,” said Ann Veronica, wisely. ’ ‘Hélas, poor you,’ Melusine rejoined sarcastically. The voices went into his ears but left no impression of their import. “Of course!” he said.
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