One of the coolies held the paper lantern. Its dreariness, like the filthiness of the police cell, was a discovery for her. 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. Wood, in equal trepidation. ” “You should try out for the town orchestra.
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