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's not to blame," said Jack, rising. Her anger died and she eyed him. ‘You do not say, “I am a gentleman born. She will not confide in me.
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