Her bonnet dropped off and was trampled into the gutter. 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,” he said, “I want to get away. Anna looked at her curiously, and with sinking heart.
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