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. " And, with a few magical touches, he stamped the fleeting expression on the canvass. For what she lacked in appearance, Sheila compensated in gossip. But it sounds too real to be imagined. He tried not to think—of Ruth with her mother's locket, of her misguided father, taking his lonely way to sea. Nothing shall induce me to act contrary to the dictates of my conscience.
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