Wood was heard without, angrily demanding admittance. They litter up the room. It is better as it is. 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 thought that you loved Paris and your work so much.
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