It was the bitterest moment of her life. “In any case, I decline to see you alone. “I am going to America. “We have,” he said, “to be the utmost friends. "Married!—no—no," replied the woollen-draper. They fell in a diapason of smashes. “My dear Anna,” he answered. 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. She really must not go to that affair. Then to the Golden Ball, in the same street. Hang it, there must be something about her that will give it away. Squads reached to the very portal of that centre of disturbance. Nice lady.
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