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. Gosse took a step or two towards the centre of the room. A diversion was created by the violent struggles of the little old lady. ‘What the devil do you think you’re doing?’ protested Hilary angrily. For the first time he seemed to wonder what it might be that she had to confess. . ’ ‘They wear a uniform, do they not? They march and fight with swords and shoot with guns, no?’ ‘Well, yes, miss.
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