’ ‘Lord,’ Gerald murmured, awed more by the outspokenness of his hostess than by what she had said. When he had finished he took up the wine list and ordered a bottle of dry champagne. 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. "Your uncle, Sir Rowland?" "It is no idle boasting," replied the other. She felt surges of longing escape every corner of her flesh. “Great!” Cathy squealed.
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