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. " "Offer them my hearty thanks," replied Jack, waving his hand to the group, all of whom returned the salutation. We stepped from the Embassy into the motor—and oh! I thought that he was dead.
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