"She has taken measure of the keeper's little dog, no doubt."
"Here's your baby clothes," cried La Louve, snatching the bundle from Mont Saint-Jean's grasp.
The handkerchief, already torn, was now rent to tatters, and a quantity of fragments of stuff of all colours, and old pieces of linen half cut out, flew around the yard, and were trampled under feet by the prisoners, who holloaed and laughed louder than before.
"Here's your rags!"
"Why, it is a ragpicker's bag."
"Patterns from the ragman's."
"What a shop!"
"And to sew all that rubbish!"
"Why, there's more thread than stuff."
"What nice embroidery!"