“I am going,” she said grimly, with three hairpins in her mouth. A sense of loss was amongst us. 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. “Diedermayer’s a kiss-ass. If one wants a thing very much, perhaps one is inclined to think one can’t have it.
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