” She shook her head. Close behind him stood the tall gaunt figure of Marvel, with his large bony hands, his scraggy neck, and ill-favoured countenance. " "Stop!" cried Jonathan, who did not care to push matters too far, "let me have a word with you, Mr. It's a sorry world," he went on. 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. She had made her first fight for dignity and freedom as a grown-up and independent Person, and this was how the universe had treated her.
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