Wood laughed louder than ever. 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. " "I'd good reasons for placing it there, Sir; but don't question me about them now, or you'll drive me mad," returned Mrs. She felt she had to go on. I wonder ——” “London is a huge place,” Brendon said.
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