‘It is in no way your affair, monsieur, and you will unhand me at once. “Yes,” she answered, looking away. ” Ennison looked steadily at the cigarette which he was tapping on his forefinger. 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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