"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. She was caught by some of the bystanders, who offered by her every assistance in their power. If a certain kink in your sense of honour will not permit you to go to her as a lover, go to her as a comrade. Fly! they shall knock me on the head—curse 'em!—before they shall touch you.
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