" "Won't you go?" cried Jack passionately. 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. He lost control of the machine. But tell her this, too. Here, then, but for the time and place, might be another Sidney Carton.
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