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. ‘Before she can think of marriage, Melusine must prove her identity. The gale had become a hurricane: that hurricane was the most terrible that ever laid waste our city.
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