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. I have neither father, mother, brother, sister, nor husband—I have only him. At last she glanced at a little clock in the corner of the room, and sprang to her feet. She is very bright.
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