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. He had the appearance of a man who has known no rest for many nights. I love some one else. ” “That sounds more promising,” Lady Lescelles declared. I have not found the secret way into the house, for instance.
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