She expanded that. ‘Forgive my not rising to greet you,’ she said, holding out a claw-like hand. 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. By and by she heard the screen door. "It was the story of a man, so to speak, who had left his vitals in his native land and wandered strange paths emptily.
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