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. He had not bothered to take off his raincoat and his umbrella sat dripping on his modern ice cube of a table. " "Excepting your father.
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