I’m afraid I’m a terribly clumsy fellow. 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. D'ye hear. “Confound sex from first to last!” said Ann Veronica. You're alone, too, child. "O Massa Ireton! Massa Wild!" ejaculated Caliban, "Shack Sheppart gone!" "Gone? you black devil!—Gone?" cried Ireton. The arrangement had been made by the town matchmaker, a frightening old oak of a man.
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