"I saw her go in here," said Mrs. Wragge, in awestruck accents. "A woman
in a gray cloak and a poke bonnet. A rude woman. She scuttled by me
on the stairs--she did. Here's the room, and no woman in it. Give us a
Prayer-book!" cried Mrs. Wragge, turning deadly pale, and letting her
whole remaining collection of parcels fall about her in a little cascade
of commodities. "I want to read something Good. I want to think of my
latter end. I've seen a Ghost!"
"Nonsense!" said Magdalen. "You're dreaming; the shopping has been too
much for you. Go into your own room and take your bonnet off."
"I've heard tell of ghosts in night-gowns, ghosts in sheets, and ghosts
in chains," proceeded Mrs. Wragge, standing petrified in her own magic
circle of linen-drapers' parcels. "Here's a worse ghost than any of
'em--a ghost in a gray cloak and a poke bonnet. I know what it is,"
continued Mrs. Wragge, melting into penitent tears. "It's a judgment on
me for being so happy away from the captain. It's a judgment on me for
having been down at heel in half the shops in London, first with one
shoe and then with the other, all the time I've been out. I'm a sinful
creature.
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