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. Wood's charms equalled your description. So appalling was the sight, that even the murderers—familiar as they were with scenes of slaughter,—looked aghast at it. Sheppard raised her eyes, and fixed them upon her interrogator.
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