” He said. 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. “I am one who controls most of the Church, dear. But, after all, it will be different. " With this, he struck the door a heavy blow. Their journey had made them indolent, the afternoon was warm, and it seemed impossible to breathe a sweeter air.
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