They hissed me!” “Beasts!” he muttered. 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. Very slowly emerging out of a phase of stupefaction, these personal affairs and her personal problem resumed possession of her mind. Mrs. He seemed to be. At once. But it was her proof. ‘Lord, no! I’ve a better regard for my skin, I thank you.
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