’ Gerald laughed and clapped him on the back. She looked at me as though I were some unclean thing, as though my soul were weighted with every sin in the calendar. They were sounding more and more like Civic every day. 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. ’ ‘Gone off?’ repeated Melusine, her wrongs rising up to tear into her chest. Consternation gripped him.
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