Father— dead. ” “She doesn’t care for him now?” “Not a bit. 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. Weeks hurled past, weeks that turned into months. After the day in the library, he constantly demonstrated his affections; Gianfrancesco had never done that. “Go to London,” said Ann Veronica.
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