“Let go!” she gasped at him, a blaze of anger. The gale had become a hurricane: that hurricane was the most terrible that ever laid waste our city. “I thought I was just up against Morningside Park and father, but it’s the whole order of things—the whole blessed order of things. For a few minutes he kept them at bay. 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. And there was another matter.
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