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. Her mother brewed potions to scent her hair, sweet balms of anise for her lips and hands, told her wonderful secrets, some decidedly un-Christian. To Ruth the thought of Hartford no longer projected upon her vision a city of spires and houses and tree-lined streets.
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This video was uploaded to linkbaronet4.com on 19-07-2024 23:36:38
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