He might go on as the devoted lover until he tired. “Too much sensibility and too cold a heart. He does not look the criminal. When he begins to notice things, I want you to trap his interest, to amuse him, keep his thoughts from reverting to his misfortunes. He was all alone, like herself. 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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