“A little nervous. She was unusually soft and gentle in her manner to him. He walked through the misty September night to his rooms. I can never be grateful enough. By a tacit agreement they ignored the significant thing between them, ignored the slipping away of the ground on which they had stood together hitherto. 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. Not a word passed between them.
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