“How can you know?” “I think—perhaps I am rather a cold-blooded person. 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. Kneebone," she added, with a glance at that gentleman, which was meant to speak daggers, "will do as he pleases. Do you know what? You're some sea goddess and you're only fooling us.
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