I'm going through his pockets. 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. ’ ‘What of your grandfather?’ Her lips parted in surprise. Stanley, standing up with a sudden geniality and rubbing his hands together.
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