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. " "Bless you for it. ” She commented. Instead, they lived a Bohemian existence, moving from patron to patron, city to city. At first she could not tell what it was; but as her eyes became accustomed to the light, she recognized the old coat. E. The ruffian caught hold of her hair, and held her fast.
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