‘Courage,’ urged her spouse. CHAPTER XII. "You mean you were just sorry for him?" "As I would be for any human being in pain. But De Maupassant—sheer off! Stick to Dickens and Thackeray and Hugo. She said as much to him. “Take my advice,” he said hoarsely. 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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