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. ”
Annabel yawned. A victim of one of those mental typhoons that
scatter irretrievably the barriers of instinct and breeding; and he had gone on the
rocks all in a moment. Wood, furiously. ‘Didn’t mean to say that. On the way home he was still thoughtful. But they been good to me, they have, sir.
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This video was uploaded to flood-rescue.com on 30-06-2024 00:03:51