‘And since the entire company and Pottiswick himself were unable to find hide nor hair of the infernal French female—’ ‘English, Hilary,’ Gerald reminded him. As for the doctor, he found a pleasure in this service that would have puzzled him had he paused to analyse it. “I ate their mother first. 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. Her companion was a person of no inferior condition. " "I know where she will be found, and how," rejoined Jack with a shudder. You have a daughter, no? Madame Ibstock, I think.
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