He watched her constantly, trapped her in corners and slept with his arms locking her like a human cage. 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. " Here Ruth returned with the broth; and McClintock strode aft, convinced that he was going to have something far more interesting than books to read. And if she is not a nun, nor a refugee, and yet is entirely English, I’m hanged if I know what she is.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDMuMTQ1LjE3MS4xMzMgLSAwOS0wNy0yMDI0IDEzOjU1OjA4IC0gODU5MDc2NTE0
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