I don’t think I shall ever care for this bonnet again. With great difficulty, Wood forced a path through the ruins. I am an independent sort of person,” she continued, “and I am engaged in an attempt to earn my own living. He laughed suddenly, and released her. There’s always friction, conflict, unwilling concessions. 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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