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. ‘Thanks to him, Hilary and I nearly had our heads blown off. “Does it hurt?” Michelle asked. Ruth's mind was fertile soil; for a long time to come it would be something of a hothouse: green things would spring up and blossom overnight. You notice that I have recently spent ten francs on a box of the best Russian cigarettes, and that there are roses upon my table.
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