‘You will please to tell this—this idiot to release me. 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. Think if your own mother was alive!” He paused, deeply moved. I know what I am doing better than you do. Do you know of what I speak?” “I do, I do!” She said. The crowd dispersed in different directions, and most fortunately a heavy shower coming on, put them altogether to flight.
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