” “No doubt. I cannot turn into a bat. “Look at our affair,” he went on, looking up at her. "If this document is correct," continued Wood, "and I am persuaded it is so,— you are as unfortunate as wicked. ” She swept out of the room. 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. She turned to face him and he kissed her.
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