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. " "I am calm—quite calm, Rowland," she answered, with lips whose agitation belied her words. " "Mr. "There's nothing in his clothes. “I can’t endure it,” she said. Lucy replied, \"My hair has a mind of its own. " The object of this discussion sat motionless.
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