She became as The Tigress, a free thing. "He; also, has paid the penalty of his offences," returned Thames. He misstated her age and address; but you can’t get home on him for a thing like that. 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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