“Annabel?” he exclaimed. Then the girl was heading past the inn and Roding marched down to confront her. He recognized the face instantly. 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. I’d do anything, Vee. Abruptly he gripped her wrist.
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