‘Something wrong, madame?’ Her fan came up swiftly, hiding the lower part of her face. Mr. Your laugh reminds me of—of——" "Whose, Sir?" demanded Jackson, becoming suddenly grave. Earles said persuasively. 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. "You are complimentary, Sir Rowland," returned the other, with a grim smile. Their subsequent conversation is outside the scope of our story.
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