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“Sir John,” her aunt repeated, with thin emphasis, “is coming to see your sister. Her senses were prickled when she felt a new pair of eyes upon her. A deadlock. 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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This video was uploaded to tructiepcauthongthuongde.org on 29-09-2024 18:11:28