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. "To him I owe everything," continued the widow, "life itself—nay, more than life,—for without his assistance I should have perished, body and soul. We must wash out those stains up stairs, and burn the cloth. One day she desisted from her search and went unexpectedly to the Tredgold College. And now, Quilt," he continued, addressing the janizary, who approached him with the horse, "fly to St.
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