Her stomach growled, and she clutched at it in reaction, haphazardly observing that the gown had been changed to silk. That would be an unkind twist of fate. 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. ” “Tut!” he said, fuming, and put out his hand to the papers in the pink tape. “Politics!” Ennison answered grimly.
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