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. ‘But what is it that amuses you, Jacques?’ Kimble’s grin spread wider. She sat in deep thought for a moment or two, and then nodding briskly, dipped the pen in the ink again and began to write. ” “Excellent,” Sir John declared.
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