“She was the High Priestess who turned me in Greece, before Rome. But he did not follow on with the thought. Gerald watched her vanish into the darkness, unusually incensed. 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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