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. “You’re not a man for me—not one of a sex, I mean. After a series of mental gymnastics—occupying the space of a few seconds—it came to him with a shock that here was a new specimen of the species. She laughed as the deluge seemed to grow worse with every step. "But, perhaps, he has not got beyond the room above. Even now, during the recurring doubts of the future, the thought of the island was repellent.
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