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. He said nothing, even though it was not raining. For a long time he stared at the empty doorway. Sebastian leapt down into the crypt. ” “It’s very kind of you—” began Ann Veronica.
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