The teacher droned on and on about the mournful funerary love of Romeo and Juliet, a tale she had long since tired of. "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. He reached the top floor and ran down the corridor to the little dressing room at the end where he had lost her before. Nothing to do; nothing for the hands, the mind, the heart. " "I thought you told me that the rascal who has so long been the terror of the town —Jack Sheppard—was in custody. "I dare say she has called to inquire about Jack. In the subdued light she could not tell whether he was asleep or awake.
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