CHAPTER XVII. 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. ’ ‘The what, miss?’ asked Kimble, frowning. It wasn’t. ” He said. “Not like it’s your fault if you wake up one day and decide you hanker for a nice piece of ass, a ten-minute tumble.
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