” She stopped with an air of interrogation. "I can't say I do," replied Wood. The address was of course her destination, thousands of miles away, an infinitesimal spot in a terrifying space. 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. She had killed him. The arrested women were herded in a passage of the Panton Street Police-station that opened upon a cell too unclean for occupation, and most of them spent the night standing. For my own part, I don't see in what way it is to be accomplished, except by the payment of our customary fees.
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