That her husband was not touching her anymore grew to be like a disease, something to be cured. 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. The robbers proceeded singly, and kept on the grass skirting the road, so that no noise was made by their horses' feet. Open it.
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