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He stood up and she ushered him out of the small room. Ennison stood still for a moment, swinging his latchkey upon his finger. Each morning his inquiry was properly answered: the patient was steadily improving, but none could say when he would be strong enough to proceed upon his journey. 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.

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This video was uploaded to adiszena.com on 05-06-2024 17:47:49

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