" On leaving Mr. Taber," said the manager. " "She has suffered enough for you," said Wood. Mr. 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. The trader you spoke about: he disliked your father, didn't he? Well, he probably played your father a horrible practical joke.
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