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. Sailors would leave them at the trader's. At the Palazzo she had been confined to her own sunny windowed quarters most of the time, but she had the entire run of the inside of the manor.
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