’ Trodger eyed her with suspicion. 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. ‘We will converse in your own tongue,’ he said in French as he led her away. Let's go up and see how the patient is doing. "How goes it?" he began, heartily.
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This video was uploaded to probiv.club on 22-06-2024 22:42:57
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