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. When she had finished the first tale, there was a sense of disappointment. “Then I suppose when I have graduated I am to come home?” “It seems the natural course—” “And do nothing?” “There are plenty of things a girl can find to do at home. More strange stories were told of it than of any other house in London.
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