Lord, I am sixty. 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 it’s love you should’ve had when you were tiny and I didn’t give it to you. It was only when they came into a square that daylight had a positive quality. “About two years ago. “John,” she said, “I am afraid that I am going to make you unhappy. Love….
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