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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. “Why are you so distant? Why all the mystery? What are you, a narc? Double-oh-seven or something?” She steeled herself, refusing to react. She reached the station, and mingling with a crowd of excursionists who had come from the river on the other side, took her place in the train unnoticed. Wood—" "That's false!" cried a voice behind him. There's a letter for the head turnkey, Mr. Another labyrinth in hell!" A smile broke over the trader's face.
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