Sir Rowland then fell. 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. ’ ‘And where do you propose to go?’ enquired Gerald carefully. He drew a little sigh of relief. “So Brendon and I,” he said, “have been troubled with the same fears.
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