Something seemed awry. “I want to be your friend,” he said. She backed away, amazed as the thing buzzed loudly in the center of the room. 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. He wriggled underneath her heaving body, pinned like an insect. "To be sure he has!" returned Mrs.
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