"Not a moment is to be lost," cried Jack: "follow me. The applause was uproarious at the end of the concert. She clenched her hands together and leaned forward in her chair, gazing steadily into the fire. Love anywhere. 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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