"Curse me, if I don't think all the world means to cross the Thames this fine night," observed Ben. 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. " "But you will,—won't you?" she rejoined, looking him coaxingly in the face.
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