After all, it is not long since that a Catholic nun in this country would have had to remain in hiding. Without you I should never have recovered either health or reason. ‘Gone!’ he said. 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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