"Mr. ” She looked at him with curious eyes. "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. The blinds were all drawn, the sunlight kept out, one could not tell what colors these gray swathings hid.
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