” John approached Lucy, handing the bouquet to her. That's the job. ” Anna looked at them for a moment with a pitiful attempt at a smile. 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 hate this part of the world. “But—your people!” she gasped. Ramage demurred.
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