“I looked for you on the way home from The Big Apple, where were you?” Lucy smiled. 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. “I would have given up anything to see you your old self again—as you are this evening. They don’t count, and I don’t care. White, who had risen to greet her, proceeded with a formal, and from Anna’s point of view, a wholly unnecessary round of introductions.
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