‘I know that, miss. "I've counted ten coffins so far. Your history, your actions, nay, your very thoughts are better known to me than to your spiritual adviser. 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. She laughed softly, and leaned across the table.
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