Yes. 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. A single blanket constituted his sole covering at night. This was the bitterest hour he had ever known. “Anna! What tragedy has happened, little sister? No lights, no supper, no coffee —and, above all, no Mr.
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