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. Once in the room, the door locked, the sense of loneliness had dropped away from her as the mists used to drop away from the mountain in the morning. She pocketed the sum total of his ready cash, about fortyeight dollars. "My servants, like Eastern mutes, must have eyes, and ears,— and hands, if need be,—but no tongues. I can't bear it.
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