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. However, it doesn't much signify. It doesn't look bad, does it?" "Mercy, no! That wasn't the thought. The youth produced a crumpled-up card from his waistcoat pocket. " "I can at least, protect myself," replied Wild, with, provoking calmness.
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