Which is C?” Ann Veronica, with a curious sinking of the heart, regarded the black cavities of the vans. One has to be so careful. ‘There is no question of a dispute. 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. Ann Veronica was lying on her bed in a darkling room staring at the ceiling.
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