‘I know,’ said Prudence Sindlesham, sympathy in her tone. He was chained to the ground, but started up at their approach. It did not occur to her that save for some accidents of education and character they had souls like her own. 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. ’ ‘Even that he is, one must be practical.
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