” Courtlaw’s walking stick, which he had been handling, fell with a crash to the ground. The wind blew in fitful gusts, and scattered the yellow leaves from the elms and horse-chestnuts. Drink for him had a queer phase. Whatever happened she need never return to that possibility. 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. He's on the ragged edge. “I expected to stay with a relation, but I found that their arrangements did not allow of it. They heard his footsteps descending the stone staircase, growing fainter and fainter.
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