" Spurlock smiled at the doctor. ” “Yeah, I think she hates you, hon. “Wild horses—not if they have all the mounted police in London—shan’t keep me out. 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. How long he sat there, reeling off this drivel, he never knew.
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