She could not look at him through an interval that seemed to her a vast gulf of time. "Goodness only knows what he's reserved for," rejoined the widow in a desponding tone; "but if Mynheer Van Galgebrok, whom I met last night at the Cross Shovels, spoke the truth, little Jack will never die in his bed. I tell you what, Mr. He noted the strong white teeth as they snipped the thread.
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