Stories … love stories: and to-morrow she would know the joy of reading them! It was almost unbelievable; it was too good to be true. ” Mr. Quick! Quick!" The order was only just given in time. ” She said, and ducked back into her room. 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. Always as black and bitter as gall.
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