Once in the room, the door locked, the sense of loneliness had dropped away from her as the mists used to drop away from the mountain in the morning. 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. Can you imagine how dreadful it must be for them? Most of them arrive here almost penniless. If only Gerald would come. Vexation at his folly in suffering himself to be thus entrapped kept Wood for a short time silent.
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