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. No work that offered was at all of the quality she had vaguely postulated for herself. He had deliberately saved it for last. In a few minutes, an appalling change was perceptible. ‘More nor that. "Nobody has so much cause for complaint as me," growled Austin. While she worked, Melusine worried over the problem of getting Jack home.
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