They sat down in a covered pavilion that housed a grimy picnic table and a dingy fire pit. “Gracious!” she exclaimed to herself. " "Ja," answered Van Galgebrok. He returned figuratively to his bed—the bed he had made for himself and in which he must for ever lie. "No!" she cried. Her answer was not quite ready. He is extremely old—forty at least—and he has a belly excessively fat. "And yet—but it is only part of the chain of ill-luck that seems wound around me.
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