Have the goodness to affix your name to that memorandum, Sir Rowland. 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. ’ Abruptly, the niggling doubt that had been plaguing Lord Charvill came sweeping to the surface.
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