Gosse had moved forward, his pistol arm out straight, his aim true, the gun cocked. 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. The flush deck was without wells. That’s why I come to tell you. Something in his smile, in the cynical suggestiveness of his deferential tone, maddened her.
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