She went into shock. She became eager to explain herself, to show herself in the right light. “You seem to be taking our little joke more seriously than it deserves, Ferringhall,” he remarked. She spoke readily enough, but there was a new timidity in her manner. He jumped back, wrenching the sword away. 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.
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