"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. Don’t ask me how. Poor young lady! She trembled too, and was unable to give her evidence. She had adored the stupid thing, and kept it in her pocket for about ten years. The simile started a laugh in his throat. . “Wow, congratulations, Martin.
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