At this juncture, a cry burst from the child, who, nearly smothered by the weight imposed upon him, only recovered the use of his lungs as Wood altered the position of the bundle. She seemed to have no idea whatever of the emotional states that were becoming to her age and position. “What have you done?” 212 “It is your own fault, Lucia. 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. They sat in the front row. .
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