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. He seemed inexorable, and inscrutable as fate itself. Leonardo he was my—’ ‘Don’t say it,’ Gerald cut in hoarsely.
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This video was uploaded to borgodeltaglio.com on 13-05-2024 18:57:00
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