But I am not worthy to be any man's wife —far less his wife. At least for one moment, it was. The pain in Cathy and Shari Beck’s faces upset him the most, but the posters with a close up of her face they had put all over town made his heart ache more. 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. " "I might have been able to do that if you hadn't told me … she cared. The question ceased to be a tea-table talk, and became suddenly tragically real for Ann Veronica.
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