One of your aunts died, I believe, and the other removed to London. What do you think people will make of that? What will this lover of yours make of that?” At intervals Ann Veronica demanded to go, declaring her undying resolve to repay him at any cost, and made short movements doorward. “What year was 221 that, about 1350?” He asked in wonderment. “You needn’t be anxious about that! I shall contrive to live. Here she walked more slowly, looking constantly at the notices in the shop windows. 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 came to me, you wished me to speak to Anna. He looked at her in some embarrassment.
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