And yet she knew it was not fair to call her a foolish girl. Can't I make you understand? Perhaps it sounds cruel to you; but we women often have to be cruel defensively. But some day she would find a place to love: there would be rosy apples on the boughs, and there would be flurries of snow blowing into her face. Wood fancied he heard the exulting laugh of Jonathan Wild. 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. C. “Glad to see you in London.
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