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. The sun was setting in spectacular multicolored streams beyond Whitefield Park. 9. “But have you ever thought that you might be attracting negative attention to yourself by looking like you do? Like I said, don’t take it personally. She had hardly noticed the loss of her dagger, so strong had been the waves of relief that attacked her on hearing that Jack had returned from death’s door. Let me walk you to the door.
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