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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. “Never—but, by Jove, you had a narrow escape,” Ennison exclaimed. Ha! ha! What have I left but despair and madness? Promise me one thing, Mr.

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