I do not know how I shall get it, but I must, you understand. 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. Fool that I was to marry for beauty! I ought to have remembered that a fair woman and a slashed gown always find some nail in the way. We are linked together in this matter, and must go through with it. Bodies! Bodies! Horrible things! We are souls. This whole affair is truly my fault. ” “It’s impossible. Nothing shall induce me to act contrary to the dictates of my conscience.
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