“Why should one pretend?” she whispered. I didn’t realize—I don’t see how I can get out of it now. It was warm, shielding, comforting, and what was more, full of understanding. ‘Exactement. 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. When I think of it—” “But these are things I want to tell you now!” “I made a little song of it. White,” the lady in black satin remarked.
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