His eyes were closed. org/license). She drew up a chair and sat down, putting her palm on the damp, cold forehead. That’s the fact of the matter. 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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