" "Is she alive?" repeated the widow. It would be the culmination of her plan. ” She said. I know he is dead. It does not work, I still suffer madness. There was also the daunting task of getting dressed. 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. “Where are they?” She looked around.
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