. \"No, not really. His first inquiries were concerning the child, and he was delighted to find that it still lived and was doing well. ‘But you said—’ Gerald tutted. Tom swore he hadn't set eyes on him since the trial. There was a bare chance that he had been mistaken. Annabel was born soulless, a human butterfly, if ever there was one. “Who’s your violin teacher?” He asked. "Comfort yourself, my charmer," said Mr. 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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