She turned a resolute face southward. “It was unpleasant while it lasted, but it is over —and my toasted scones are delicious. He is steeped in the conventions. 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. So I set out to find you, even if it cost ten times sixteen thousand.
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