We may meet—who can tell? But I will not be fettered, even though you would make the chains of roses. He was a stranger. . She watched the people and hummed softly to herself. ‘But you said—’ Gerald tutted. "But what is an oath to you!" cried the widow, distrustfully. Mauled about!” She fell to rubbing her insulted lips savagely with the back of her hand. Jack, whose clothes were covered with dust, and whose face was deathly pale from his recent exertion, looked more like a phantom than a living person. 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. You will find it somewhere in that book.
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