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. Taking up a link, which was blazing beside him, he walked across the room; and touching a spring in the wall, a secret door flew open. Any one very badly moved choked down a few mouthfuls; the symptom of supreme distress was not to be able to touch a bit. Jack's complexion was that of a gipsy; Darrell's as fresh and bright as a rose.
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