’ ‘Don’t be stuffy, Hilary,’ admonished his betrothed. 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. It might be that the boy had taken one drink too many, or someone had given him knock-out drops.
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