Jonathan had not deceived him. 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. "Woman, your wits are fled!" And so it seemed; for all the answer she could make was to murmur distractedly, "I can't find the key. She looked at Lucy guiltily, wondering if she would be betrayed. One can learn and understand only by personal experience, by actual contact with the realities of life. " "I'm sorry. ” “We will go together,” she answered.
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