“Who’s your violin teacher?” He asked. A silence ensued. 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. Scarcely had it come to a halt, when a stalwart man shouldered his way, in spite of their opposition, through the lines of soldiery to the cart, and offered his large horny hand to the prisoner. I somehow understood. "A little extra exertion will teach him the advantage of diligence at the proper season.
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