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. . A sudden knock at the door startled her. " "By my soul, no," replied Jonathan, with affected sincerity. She turned about, and was persecuted by visions, half memories, half dreams, of Ramage. It’s a damned hard thing to do.
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