But I do not need that Gérard attend. 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. Thus, we do not necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. But they were old enough to start remembering you as mother, and we cannot have that. —Strype's Stow. You have to marry me.
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