Still, there certainly was something in the idea of a treaty. They would be partners only in loneliness. She succumbed to cancer of the breast at age forty-three, it was slow and wasting. 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. "I guessed what was coming.
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