"If you doubt my word, woman," replied the carpenter's wife, coldly, "ask Mr. Dolby smiled. 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. "You'll pardon an old woman, Miss Enschede," said Sister Prudence; "but where in this world did you get that dress?" Ruth picked up both sides of the skirt and spread it, looking down. She ducked behind a pile of unused drywall. It just feels 122 right! You know it does! Don’t say no. But that explains everything.
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