She meant to leave anyway, or so she would tell herself later. ’ The core of hurt rose up, tearing at her insides. . A creature of convenience, she could have cared less if her children were carried away by drunkards on the street. 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.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDE4LjIyNy4yMS4yNTIgLSAxMC0wNi0yMDI0IDAwOjU2OjEzIC0gMjA3MTkzMjE2Ng==
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