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'" "What is that?" she asked. She opened it and imbibed. 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. "Hoddy, Hoddy!… No, no! This is my father!" warned Ruth. She pushed at the closer of the two soldiers bearing the precious burden. If I surprised her, if I saw her alone, I might make her understand. On a small shelf near the foot of the bed stood a couple of empty phials, a cracked ewer and basin, a brown jug without a handle, a small tin coffee-pot without a spout, a saucer of rouge, a fragment of looking-glass, and a flask, labelled "Rosa Solis. ‘I suppose he isn’t this Leonardo you spoke of?’ ‘Certainly he is not Leonardo. And, with a glance of malignant exultation, he quitted the vault, and locked the door.
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