In the midst of them there was a cart with a man in it—and that man was Jack—my son Jack—they were going to hang him. “Oh Christ! How old were you?” “Just—well, I was young. Then the lady smiled and her radiance, even in the darkness, warmed Gerald unexpectedly. 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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