" "Knock him on the head," thundered Sir Cecil, "or we shall have the watch upon us. "Lost no time on the road—eh!—I didn't expect you till to-morrow at the earliest. "You won't refuse it, Mr. Ramage. "I don't see how I can improve it. Winds returned, the gardens withered, and roses would not bloom. 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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