“Is this Montague Street, W. “Your mother was a Gypsy. And if she was ever found living in the area like that, homeless, John could somehow find out. 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. “May I enquire,” he asked smoothly, “in what way my appearance contributes to your amusement? If there is a joke I should like to share it. But it's an odd case. My janizaries are without. She was sorry to find Ramage a little disposed to be melancholy. What's all this about, anyhow? You. Not that there had ever been any hope of that. ” “But that is ridiculous!” he exclaimed. . The twenty pounds burned with avidity.
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