While this was effected, intelligence was brought that a formidable mob was pouring down Field Lane, the end of which was barricaded. 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. The first peg was torture.
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