She would never love him as she loved Capes, of course, but there are grades and qualities of love. 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 have been dreaming of your body and you night after night.
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