By a miracle, he averted its path, his hold on the girl’s mouth shifting fast to grasp her wrist. 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. “Annabel! God in Heaven, it is Annabel!” She did not speak. She seemed tense when not playing, he noted, more so than she had during the first two pieces.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDE4LjIxNy4xNTQuNTggLSAwMi0wNi0yMDI0IDExOjAyOjQzIC0gNzk5ODUyMzQ2
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