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CHAPTER XXVIII. 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. “I killed him. She fell into a pleasant dream of positions and work. He forces an engagement upon her. The black, meantime, began to ply his hammer, and speedily unriveted the chains. “To tell you the truth, I am a little dull.
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