‘I cannot possibly shoot a lady, you know. ” He released her hand and talked in eager undertones against an auditory background of urgency and distress. ” “Such independence,” he answered quickly, “is a vice. A person of somewhat artificial graces and mannerisms, she was for once in her life perfectly natural. Who walked you home?\" Mike asked her, his voice tinged with jealousy, as she passed the garlic bread. 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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