You don’t want to miss the sport. It reminded her viscerally of her subhuman status, stripped away of the pretenses of art, intellect, and nicety. 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 ran down alleyways and between buildings, faster than an Olympian, until she could hear his voice no more. "Mint! Mint!" "Death and hell!" cried Rowland, making a furious pass at the carpenter, who fortunately avoided the thrust in the darkness; "will nothing silence you?" "Help!" ejaculated Wood, renewing his cries. " CHAPTER XIV.
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