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Why not? Imagine I’ve had a fit of hysteria—and that I’ve come round. He still watched her and questioned her. Has he given you the tools?" "He has," replied Bess, producing the handkerchief. 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. Mrs. Another long interval elapsed. She breathed deeply. Michelle ate fast, and Lucy followed her lead, shoveling mashed potatoes and salmon down her gullet in a passionless frenzy.
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