‘Silence,’ hissed a voice in French. That’s how it takes me. “Go on!” she commanded. 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. I kept them on myself till the sight of your empty chair and the chill loneliness of it all nearly sent me mad. Cocked hats and buckled swords spoke of rank.
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