Winifred, accordingly, left the room, and a servant being despatched to the nearest tavern, soon afterwards returned with a crown bowl of the ambrosian fluid. Its very calmness was frightful. “But I wish,” she said, “I had some idea what I was really up to. “I am dying to renew my acquaintance with London, Mrs. ” “But I didn’t lose it that way, did I?” She grew hysterical. Nobody could possibly find him now. 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. . Even the love of a mother does not sway him. “I wanted to make love to you.
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