But perhaps I had better get a room in an hotel to-night and look round. 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. ‘Jarvis Remenham was your mother’s father. I have only just left Wych Street. "I've been to all the flash cases in town, and can hear nothing of him or his wives.
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