It was Ennison who for the rest of his visit was quiet and subdued. He uttered her name and his excitement grew when he did not feel a bra. Straitened circumstances would not have mattered; a mother would have managed somehow. "I understand," replied Rowland. 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.
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