And then, there would be the question of money. Hurry to me, I entreat you. 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. ‘It is London’s loss, ma’am. She sat herself upon the bed. “Miss Pellissier,” he said, “these gentlemen are your friends, and therefore they are my friends. The Ragged Edge. The Lord have mercy upon you!" This ceremony concluded, the calvacade was again put in motion.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDE4LjIxOC45NC4xNzMgLSAwMi0wNi0yMDI0IDE1OjU5OjQxIC0gNDAyNjM2NTcw
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