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 held her hand in his, cupped together like a pair of shells for the rest of the hour. ’ So pat, thought Gerald. John, he was between me and the door. “Martin, you realize that I’m dating someone, don’t you?” She knew his reply before he uttered it.
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