“It is your sister and her husband,” he said. Stanley, with an imperious gesture, “to come in here. 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. He kept at it even on those nights when the monsoon began to break with heavy storms and he had to weight down with stones everything on his table. ‘Something for you, Lucy?’ he asked, interrupting a heated argument that had obviously been in progress for some little time before their arrival. She pointed across the road. This vessel is now in the river, off Wapping. It would have been very well if she had been some common creature who might have been bought off. If I'd not gone mad, they would have hanged me.
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