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. "You'll not forget the thousand, Sir Rowland—short accounts, you know. " "Ruth what?" "Enschede; Ruth Enschede. " "But I never saw anybody more alive. She was not afraid exactly, but there was that about her loneliness to-night she distrusted.
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