“No, he grabbed my hand. She barely heard a word that Martin or Brown said, until Martin’s voice chimed. You on the other hand have to come to London, a worker, with the responsibility of life upon your own shoulders—and in addition all the burden of her follies. 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. Her stifled misery had betrayed her.
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