She fought a compulsive urge to yank his shirt free. "Can't you take me with you?" urged the voice; "I'll make it well worth your while. She began rubbing it with her pocket-handkerchief. ” He threw his head back. And thus he effected his escape from the New Prison. 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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