“I hate this!” Lucy accused him, pointing to the Michelle. 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. The air was thick with feelings. Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes bright. "I can't see him. Ramage,” she said, “I can’t—Not now.
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