For a time Ann Veronica went on her way gauging the quality of sordid streets. You should go home today and get some rest. But the girl stood outside the circle of Ah Cum's knowledge—rather profound—of human impulses. 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. I'll call for you after lunch.
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