I was the black sheep, I was hurried out of the way. I had consecrated my life to His Work; and I took the primrose path. Shotbolt nodded in token of acquiescence, and emitted an odd guttural sound. 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. And what did she do? Not only did she cut his hand in her rage, but she refused to let him help her, and then she ran away from him. "I'm prudence personified.
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