‘Civilian peace-keeping forces, you know. 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. You called yourself a murderess. They were childless and servantless, and they had reduced simple living to the finest of fine arts.
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