She tried to appear as if she had never been questioned before. Ruth's eyes were wet, but she saw light everywhere: the room was filled with celestial aura. No one was allowed to pass along Newgate Street, which was barricaded and protected by a strong constabulary force. 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. It had been part of her wedding trousseau, a gift from her family to his.
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