But God will punish you for what you have done this day. . “There, there, now. 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. It's gin—a liquor you used to like. Something tells me I am rushing on greater danger.
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