They had their little dreams about her. Love, obliterated, annihilated; out of his heart and out of his Bible. 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. McClintock says they can't get in there, or at least they never try it. If she could not marry him, she would not marry any one.
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