“You remember the man in Paris who used to follow me about—Meysey Hill they called him?” He nodded. 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. It might be that the boy had taken one drink too many, or someone had given him knock-out drops. Sebastian rose from the tomb.
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