Take my child to—it is—oh God!—I am sinking—take it—take it!" "Where?" shouted Wood. Then making a pretence of stooping to rearrange her flowing train, she glanced at Anna, and half stopped in her progress down the room. When first brought under consideration, she was a miserable and forlorn object; squalid in attire, haggard in looks, and emaciated in frame. "The shoulder-clappers!" added a lady, who, in her anxiety to join the party, had unintentionally substituted her husband's nether habiliments for her own petticoats. Probably hadn't. "She was mine before you ever saw her. How is she?” “My sister is quite well, thank you,” she answered.
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