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. She knew she was a monster and so did they. " "Your father will never oppose your happiness, my dear, I'm sure," said Mrs. Hilary threw up his eyes. He could not make good his hold. But we waste time.
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