She got hysterical. 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. “It was my sister Anna. He took up his hat and went. Instead, you are willing to go to a place like that where you ought not to be allowed to think of showing yourself. " "I'll ring for one," replied Kneebone, rising accordingly; "but I fear my servants are gone to bed.
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