So she took up Stevenson and began to read aloud. I came to London to look for you, and somehow the figure I saw in my dreams had got mixed up with you. 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 raised her eyebrows.
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