All at once she became aware of sounds outside. Mark you, she wasn’t the only one. A bumper round, gentlemen. He had been quite right to sit down. "You have lived over here?"—astonished. She mentally reprimanded herself to alter her own visage so as not to appear depraved. Then Valade—was the man as big a fool as Nicholas?—tried again. 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.
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