" Ruth stood with drawn brows; she was trying to recall. 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. Things happen to women—proper women—and all they have to do is to take them well. " Jack was about to comply; but not liking the man's manner, he walked on.
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