"Is there anything wrong with it?" "Wrong? Why, you have been imposed upon somewhere. ’ Trodger frowned, and chewed his lip. He seemed to be thinking hard. 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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