He sat before a desk littered all over with papers and official looking documents. Who could guarantee a safer existence outside Florence? That Sebastian seemed to have a weird immunity to the Pestilence was a trait that went unquestioned, unanswered. With his tongue lolling and his flea-bitten stump wagging apologetically, he glanced from face to face to see if there was any forgiveness visible. Annabel looked up and down the empty street, and then turned to her sister. She answered in whispers, for there was the white arm of a woman in the next box peeping beyond the partition within a yard of him. I can't run in these heavy fetters. Her girl Clarice was next, dying within a single day, blood leaking from her pretty brown eyes like an image of the Blessed Virgin.
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