But Sheppard took no notice of the exclamation. . ‘You are the one that I have met in London. A girl—at my age—is grown-up. 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. She read the policeman’s rueful glance when she caught his refection in his rearview mirror. “You look more like your old self when you smile,” he remarked. "He was hanged that left his drink behind, you know, master," rejoined Sheppard. But the aunt seized her in her arms and rocked with her. “Why should one pretend?” she whispered. Be so good as to let me pass, sir,” she added, looking her obstructor steadily in the face.
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