" "I'll go with you," said Blueskin. "I know not—and care not," replied Jack. 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. In the matter of his conscience he was primitive; and for an educated man to become primitive is to become something of a child.
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