Anna stood looking down upon her sister with grave perturbed face. Spurlock snatched the check out of Ruth's hands and ran to the window. 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. Nobody could possibly find him now.
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