. Once again the cavalcade was in motion, and winding its way by St. " "A promise to my mother?" said Winifred, unsuspiciously. Her softly intertwined fingers became rigid. "It's an ill wind that blows nobody good," thought the carpenter, turning his attention to the child, whose feeble struggles and cries proclaimed that, as yet, life had not been extinguished by the hardships it had undergone. 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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