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’s the warming up of the year, the coming of the light mornings, the way in which everything begins to run about and begin new things. We thought of starting in half an hour’s time, and trying for a theatre somewhere on the way. But that brought Mrs.
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