The shops were lighting up into gigantic lanterns of color, the street lamps were glowing into existence, and she had lost her way. “That sounds so uncouth,” she murmured. She got into rows through meddling with their shoes and tennis-rackets, and had moments of carefully concealed admiration when she was privileged to see them just before her bedtime, rather radiantly dressed in white or pink or amber and prepared to go out with her mother. Under the plumed hat, her eye kindled. Gravely he placed them in his aunt's hand. “Don’t think so,” Drummond answered. ’ The snaking suspicion rolled through his mind again. 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. She fell asleep instantaneously, fatigued from weeks of exhaustion.
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