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Instantly seizing it, the young man placed it in the carriage, shut the door, and commanded his servants to drive off. β€˜At me,’ she uttered, holding her own pistol high and aiming it steadily. ” β€œI suppose I must have thought so. 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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