I——” She threw herself into an easy chair. 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. At times I swear I’ve never met a more jaded fifteen-year-old, and your lie about being sixteen didn’t get by me for one second, believe it. They were hailed as celebrities, the three of them. "Do they treat you ill?" asked her son. Sometimes he was obviously irritable and uncomfortable and unfortunate in his efforts to seem at ease.
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