It's your eagerness that bothers me. "How do I know you are a friend?" asked Darrell. " "Nor any one else in his senses," rejoined Wood, with a laugh. 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 had heard everything. " "Well, that's a hopeful sign. Here it is.
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