I did think it could be done. I thank God for the beauty you love and the faults you love. 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. He thought for a moment, and went on: “Love is something that has to be taken care of.
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