“You know what? You’re right. . His sister appeared. " "That boy'll never rest till he finds his vay to Bridewell," observed Sharples. 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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