Sheppard, I'm sure, will say as much for you. “It was my sister Anna. He looked at it with uplifted eyebrows, but made no remark. That is why I called myself Anna. 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.
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