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. Still keeping ahead of his pursuers, he ran along the direct road, till the houses disappeared and he got into the open country. “I was sick of the make-believe. "How goes it?" he began, heartily. He gets his brains from Carolyn. I’ve got a streak of male. With the broken links of the chain, which served him in lieu of more efficient implements, he commenced operations just above the chimney-piece, and soon contrived to pick a hole in the plaster. She was honest again.
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