Sometimes I think she’s tired of us. ” Horace, the manservant, transformed now into the semblance of a correctly garbed waiter, threw open the door. If you will think only of one trifling aspect—the inconvenience it must be to us to explain your absence—I think you may begin to realize what it all means for us. 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. She was perhaps as near tears as ever before in her life.
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