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. " "You might have added 'then'," said Miss Spurlock, drily. “I hate you because you are the Devil! Rot in Hell!” She was shocked at her own accusation, how she had savored the words. " Again Ruth nodded. " So saying, he closed the door. “My dear boy,” she exclaimed. There isn’t a husband breathing, Annabel, who wouldn’t have blessed that pistol in your hands, and prayed God that the bullet might go straight.
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