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. “Loneliness,” she said, “is a luxury which I never permit myself. ‘I broke in. She doubted how she stood toward him and what the restrained gleam of his face might signify. "If you two loved each other," went on the doctor, "there would be something to stand on—a reason why for this madness. Thank goodness there’s plenty of opportunity! And we two can talk. A man’s children nowadays are not his own. I bent over him.
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