Probably she mistook you; probably she thought you cared. " "She? My God, the pity of it! She knows nothing of life. ” He came and stood on the hearthrug close to her. " "Be it so," replied Jack, putting up his blade. 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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