” He resumed, after a mouthful: “Here is a girl of sixteen or seventeen, seventeen and a half to be exact, running about, as one might say, in London. ‘Peste,’ she wailed, as Emile dropped to the floor, ducking down. ’ This was Leonardo’s philosophy. He shivered and looked behind as he stepped into his hansom. But the free arm of the stranger hit him a flail-like blow on the chest and sent him sprawling into the yielding sand. “How has the world taken it?” he asked. Immediately the "boy" went forth with his paper lantern, repeating a cry as he ran—warning to clear the way. 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. She put out her hands to avoid his embrace.
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