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. Even this man had accepted her for “Alcide” without a moment’s question. The Night-Cellar. She had done forever with the Age of Chivalry, and her own base adaptations of its traditions to the compromising life. Well, my friend found us out, and would give no quarter. It contains a thousand pounds; and, if all other schemes fail, I'll engage to free him on the way to Tyburn. And here, we may be permitted to offer an observation upon the peculiar and unaccountable influence which ladies of a shrewish turn so frequently exercise over—we can scarcely, in this case, say—their lords and masters; an influence which seems not merely to extend to the will of the husband, but even to his inclinations. I loved her beyond anything in heaven or on earth—to idolatry. I shall not let you go till I am quite sure.
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