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. ‘But—’ ‘Nothing at all for you to worry your head over,’ said the captain, moving to try and usher her forth. He was therefore obliged to use the iron bar, which he did with as much caution as circumstances would permit. There'll be busy days and idle. Not much.
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