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. I didn’t realize—I don’t see how I can get out of it now. He embraced her, kissing her cheek, then her neck.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 20-09-2024 17:45:57
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