"The end is the most beautiful in English literature. ” They remained looking at each other for three or four seconds. At last he could bear it no longer. ‘Knew you had the lad with you, and thought you were merely delayed. 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.
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