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. Seventeen hours, sixteen hours. ‘I don’t think he deserved that, Melusine. " "Egad, Jack," said Gay, "you should write your adventures.
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