“You must leave me your address if you please,” he said, as she rose to go. “Do you need me to tell you? You have tasted the luxury of power. You will join a world of fashion, a world of wealth, a life of ease. She spoke slowly. Such a time that it takes for them to go. 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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