"Read the first chapter of Job"; beyond that, nothing. “Dear me! I wonder where Sir John picked her up. 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. Wait a second. Fortescue raised his eyebrows and assumed a light-comedy expression.
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