She would never look squarely at these dream forms that mocked the social order in which she lived, never admit she listened to the soft whisperings in her ear. Indeed, she did not want to think of him as loving her. ’ ‘Yes, do. Lucy could sense her mental resolution to nip Michelle’s burgeoning obsession with the occult in the bud. 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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