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You would find things to laugh at even in Artemus Ward. It was nearly one o’clock; but there were lights still in all her windows. She was dressed in a tattered black stuff gown, discoloured by various stains, and intended, it would seem, from the remnants of rusty crape with which it was here and there tricked out, to represent the garb of widowhood, and held in her arms a sleeping infant, swathed in the folds of a linsey-woolsey shawl. ‘I hope I do not understand you.
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