“Will you tell Sydney that I will see him in the morning,” he said. ‘You will keep yourself utterly quiet,’ he instructed, a growl in her ear as they headed for the door. 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.
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