‘Dolt! Muttonheaded oaf! Why the deuce couldn’t he have sent you home?’ Valade cut in at that. I wanted to, that day in the Zoo. “Only—I have come face to face—with something terrible, and wholly unexpected trouble. Jack's complexion was that of a gipsy; Darrell's as fresh and bright as a rose. 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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