Light flooded the uncarpeted chamber, revealing the decayed state of the place. ’ Melusine turned her head. 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. My foster mother, Janine, wasn’t much fatter. Melusine, I’ve remembered something that may help you. I made her my unwilling confederate. You'll be answerable for his escape.
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