In a flash, Melusine had jumped forward and clamped it to the floor with one booted foot. Ruth stared into the painted face, now sundrily cracked by the coursing tears. Jonathan threw open the street-door. “My child, I do not wish. She closed her eyes as if asleep, her hands folded neatly on her abdomen. 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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