I’m sorry. People shrug their shoulders and call me a crazy socialist. ” She picked at her sandwich idly. 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. In a flash, Melusine had jumped forward and clamped it to the floor with one booted foot. "Jack," exclaimed the widow, starting up and drawing back the curtain.
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