She would not sleep for fear of losing a moment of that sense of his proximity. " "Hold your tongue!" cried Mrs. . "You two … both of you! But for you I couldn't have done it. ” She stopped short. 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. .
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