Or, after all, is it worth while? The Channel is a little broader than the Boulevards— but one crosses it sometimes. All sorts of considerations come in. "A vow," she answered,—"a vow to my dead husband. Simply. 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. Anna came back into the sitting-room with a little sigh of relief. I'll remember that. The lace was family lace, easily recognizable.
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