"The natives have foolish ways of saying things. 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. ” Anna had reached the house where she lodged, but she hesitated on the doorstep. But, here they are. I can get into my clothes. You, for instance, you live, you are not afraid to live. She would come back and write letters, carefully planned and written letters, or read some book she had fetched from Mudie’s—she had invested a half-guinea with Mudie’s—or sit over her fire and think. Yet her hands dropped, and she sighed deeply. " "Here he is!" cried Ireton, as the knocking was heard without. Pure romantic nonsense on her part.
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