"I'll see him fettered myself. “I throw it out in passing,” he said. I put my foot down like—like adamant. How the devil did you break a picture?’ ‘Don’t be obtuse, Hilary. “The truth!” Annabel bent over her and whispered in her sister’s ear. 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. I am a murderer. As a matter of fact I have been waiting for you.
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