"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. Missy looked like a troll with lipstick on. It is no more a murder, but a duel, you understand. ’ He clenched his fists and grew red in the face. "This must be prevented," he added to himself. Hearing a noise below, Quilt called out, supposing it occasioned by the Jew.
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