And then, “They seem changed. 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. A fever of shame ran through her being. Only promise me this. How could she tell him of the evil that drew her and drew her, as a needle to the magnet?—the fascinating evil that even now, escaped as it was, went on distilling its poison in her mind? "Yes, yes!" said the doctor. But be patient, I am your fast friend. " Mrs. “I cannot pretend that I am glad to see you, Lady Ferringhall,” he said quietly.
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