‘Does Charvill know that this Melusine of yours is here?’ The question distracted Gerald. ‘He lacked moral fibre, did Nicholas. But why this part of the plan now seemed to her quite unattractive was a question she did not care to examine too closely. 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.
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