"I can, and will. 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. They talked lightly and smoked cigarettes till Anna, with a little laugh, threw open the window and let in the cool night air. The Wastrel—as we call him—cannot play when he's sober; hands too shaky. ’ ‘Good.
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