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. Wood, who had merely absented himself to see that a public breakfast, which he had ordered at the Six Bells for all who chose to partake of it, was in readiness. "Your son is a lad of spirit, Mr. ‘I believe that. "Your name is Spurlock?" "It is. ‘Go on, Gerald. He had found her in a communicative mood, and he used the accumulated skill of years in turning that to account. ” “I wonder,” said Mr. ’ Gerald shrugged.
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