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. Yes—as he would have liked. Was he planning on spending more time with her once in the country? The streets choked with beggars and the dying. “I suppose things have changed?” she said.
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