There was a gentle rustling of skirts. My poor son despairs of me, for I
have primed every member of the family to bring me the latest novels whenever
they choose to visit. She’s
hated me for no apparent reason ever since Fourth
Grade. But, uttering a loud cry, he was swept away by the headlong
torrent. 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 told
him the story of her parents, her marriage to Iovelli, the
loss of her baby, the kidnapping after the miscarriage. ’
‘To be sure I do,’ said Gerald swiftly.
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This video was uploaded to m.damaulifm.org on 04-07-2024 14:53:16