Through a blur of tears Ruth followed the rocking light until it vanished. No! not even the derivation! But the fashion’s been set and in it you must be. 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.
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