” “You are his first wife!” The pieces fell together for her instantly. And through it all, like a golden thread on a piece of tapestry, weaving in and out of the patterns, the unspoken longing for love. “Great!” Cathy squealed. Everyone has gone away again, so that I can do so all alone. 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. That would be myself, or if she lived, Mary’s daughter. - You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. Almost worthy of your own fertile imagination.
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