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What had shifted his casual interest was the visible prospect of a party of three who were coming down the packet gangplank. 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. ‘Damn you, what’s the matter with you?’ he snapped in frustration. ’ She eyed him. " "Palliate them as you may," replied the widow, gravely, "they were faults; and as such, cannot be repaired by a greater wrong. " "What a life!" "No worse than yours.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 11-09-2024 13:10:21
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