What she admired in her man was his resolute defense of his opinions. "Miss Enschede, you're seven kinds of a brick!" "A brick?" He chuckled. ‘Exactly like my father. It takes too many years to climb even a step in the social ladder. 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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