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. ’ ‘Ah, that explains your surprise. I guess. Valade, who was standing by her chair, glancing around the packed pink-papered saloon with a heavy frown on his face, was a thickset man of coarse, reddened feature, with a discontented air. "And you have seen … drunken men?" Prudence's tones were full of suppressed horror. “I was frightened then,” she declared. People sat in unusual pews, and a wide margin of hassocky emptiness intervened between the ceremony and the walls.
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This video was uploaded to bbdy.space on 04-06-2024 10:32:46
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