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. But never mind that. Winifred screamed. “It’s your birthday today, May Day. "I know exactly what I have done," replied Spurlock.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 26-09-2024 21:19:31