The night before they made McClintock's Ruth and Spurlock leaned over the rail, their shoulders touching. He held in his hands many threads. Of course he hadn't played the game wisely. 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.
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