Amongst others, the watchman whose box was placed against the churchyard wall, near the entrance to Shoe-lane, rushed out and sprung his rattle, which was immediately answered by another rattle from Holborn-bars. ‘Merci, dieu. ‘You ought to be glad someone cares enough about your wretched little neck to try and save it. “He’s got almost to like it. I believe—I believe that I must risk it. “I believe you are quite right so far as regards the present, at any rate,” someone remarked, from the depths of an easy chair. She made a curious movement toward her niece, then suddenly, convulsively, she dabbed down something lumpy on the table and turned to follow her brother. He noted that she was fully dressed, that her hair was carefully done, that there was a knotted ribbon around her throat. 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. She would never love him as she loved Capes, of course, but there are grades and qualities of love.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDE4LjIyMi4xMTAuMzEgLSAyOS0wNi0yMDI0IDE5OjUxOjQ3IC0gMzk1NTA1NDI0
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