"No, no," rejoined Thames; "fly—or I will not answer for your safety. " "At least, I will hope so," returned Winifred. F. “Please let me drive you home. 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. . If you were a poet in need of rhymes, you had only to turn to a certain page. “We’re in for it. Pragmar, the wholesale druggist, who lived three gardens away, and who had been mowing his lawn to get an appetite for dinner, standing in a fascinated attitude beside the forgotten lawn-mower and watching her intently.
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