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He leaned towards her as though anxious to see more of her face than that faint delicate profile gleaming like marble in the uncertain light. There is the key. 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. ‘Come, mademoiselle, it is of no use to conceal anything from me, you know. I wish some one would kill Ramage by accident!.
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