’ ‘Don’t tell me,’ exploded his second-in-command. “I have just ordered a carriage for her. She turned back to Gerald, holding out her hand. She is Bohemian to the fingertips. She was making it up. 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. “Yes.
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