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‘There was a priest, the father confessor, you understand. 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. But that's an infirmity shared by a great many sounder heads than mine. “But, how,” he said, sitting up astonished beyond measure, “not go on?” “I have been thinking while you have been talking.
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This video was uploaded to tructiepcauthongthuongde.org on 20-09-2024 18:01:46