” Diane purred. 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. That is my way, my dear. She worried for her father in Mantua, 28 hoping that he was still alive. ‘Of course it is,’ corroborated Hilary. "Arrest!" vociferated Wood. ” A fair-haired young Englishman looked up from the depths of his easy chair. “She means to go. ‘Indeed?’ Gerald grinned.
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