. Her hair was of the darkest brown, and finest texture; and, when unloosed, hung down to her heels. “Who took care of you after she died?” “My father. "For my part, I don't think you ever quite got over the accident you met with on the night of the Great Storm. ‘And so also have I. What I do know I shall have no hesitation in telling anyone who has the right to ask. I don’t think I’ve got illusions, nor you. I believe he’s divorced. 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. \"Just fine, John.
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