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. " So saying, he threw himself into a chair. “I wonder if you give me a thought. “Do you need me to tell you? You have tasted the luxury of power. Moored to the steps, several wherries were dancing in the rushing current, as if impatient of restraint. The Times slipped from his fingers. He was shifting to reach his own weapon, which had fallen in between the pews at the back. She backed away, amazed as the thing buzzed loudly in the center of the room.
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