The young lady saw the change, and almost snorted. 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 know London better than you, and I have had to earn my own living. The whole neighbourhood was disturbed. To hand the key back in silence was like offering a lie.
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