I say, I'll take the yarn over and read it to McClintock. Nothing to check their proceedings but a declining habit of telling the truth and the limitations of their imaginations. Sorrow lay in the back of his mind as he withdrew, but he put it aside. Clotilde’s stunning green eyes were reflected in the gazes of the tender young children, but their faces had been hollow and sunken, their hair matted, and their clothing in bad need of repair. Go to her and tell her.
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