" "I can't exactly say, Sir Rowland. She was dropped off at 2:30 at Whitefield Park, a huge extravagantly lit field in the new part of town. “Who decorated the school like this?” She asked, peering up at the multicolored banners that hung everywhere. I’ve been waiting all my life to get out of this town. ‘You see,’ he pursued blandly, ‘I lead a life of the most intolerable boredom. 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. " The worthy carpenter was now far more angry with himself than he had previously been with Mrs. “And as for praying for faith—this sort of monologue is about as near as any one of my sort ever gets to prayer. He stood with his hands in his pockets looking at Miss Klegg’s back. I do not wish that the soldiers there will see it shine.
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