‘What is this proof?’ ‘I will not tell you. 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. Her girl Clarice was next, dying within a single day, blood leaking from her pretty brown eyes like an image of the Blessed Virgin. 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.
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