” “You what?” she repeated incredulously. “No,” she said at last; “I’m a human being—not a timid female. . ’ Then she frowned. 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. “Why would she do that? Why does she care? That’s a waste of her time.
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