" "Mr. I never see them, they never even call. ‘I am far from imagining anything of the kind. But he died when he was a child—long ago—long ago—long ago. And the door was suddenly thrown open, and the two janizaries felled to the ground by the strong arm of the stalwart robber. 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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