Straitened circumstances would not have mattered; a mother would have managed somehow. He wore a French military undress of the period, with high jack-boots, and a laced hat; and, though his attire indicated no particular rank, he had completely the air of a person of distinction. ‘Oh, Jacques, I cannot forgive myself!’ ‘Never you fret, miss,’ he uttered at once in a faint voice. The coffin was lowered into the grave, and the mourners departed.
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