He had now reached what was called the Lower Leads,—a flat, covering a part of the prison contiguous to the gateway, and surrounded on all sides by walls about fourteen feet high. That was odd: when young people were joyous, they had to express it physically. But tell her this, too. She leaned back in the corner of the cab with a little sigh of relief. Who could guarantee a safer existence outside Florence? That Sebastian seemed to have a weird immunity to the Pestilence was a trait that went unquestioned, unanswered. “You remember our first meeting?” “Yes,” he answered hoarsely. People of your sort—I don’t want the instincts to—to rush our situation.
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