“Think of the mockery!” she said. She had fallen asleep on the wooden bed, uncaring of lice or bedbugs. ‘And housebreaking,’ added Gerald calmly. “Next door,” said a spectacled young person of seventeen or eighteen, with an impatient indication of the direction. 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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