" "Well," said Sister Prudence, "remember, I tried to save you some future heartaches. Whenever she came upon the obliterated word and paused, her father would say: "Faith. It is useless to talk. She listened, listened intently for several minutes. I felt his heart. Get me an interview with her. He's young and sound. 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.
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