Many’s the bullets I’ve dug out of fellows in my time. 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. Between her and the fair, far prospect of freedom and self-development manoeuvred Mr. She had expected sympathetic admiration, but instead the whole Widgett family, except Teddy, expressed a common dismay.
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