Sheppard was enabled to take possession of the premises. 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. She sought hastily in her mind for a plausible answer to an obvious question that didn’t come. The carpenter threw himself flat upon the starling to avoid the fury of the wind. I don’t play anything. ” “Are you master of all three methods?” she asked, stopping her fanning for a moment to look at him. It is dull—deadly dull.
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