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. This formidable person, who was no other than the renowned Figg, the "Atlas of the sword," as he is termed by Captain Godfrey, had removed his hat and "skull covering," and was wiping the heat from his bepatched and closeshaven pate. ’ Shock threw Melusine’s heart out of kilter and she looked instinctively towards the major. Still, I am curious. You see, we travelled second class, and we are in the least known quarter of Paris. She could not stir hand or foot.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 25-09-2024 07:46:35