Her hands wove through his black hair, luxuriating in its thickness. I thought that Hill was dead, but I was frightened, and I wanted to get away from Paris. “Besides, it is not so. It must be sent home this evening. Not the explosive vigour of the north-born, but that which would quietly meet physical hardships and bear them triumphantly. 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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