"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. One who steals. Oh, I grew fond of you as the years went by. ” He said while grabbing her hands and 229 jerking her to her feet like a puppet, callously. "You've but a sorry lodging, Mrs. \"The servants will hear you!\" \"I don't care! Why do you?” She cried. All her tender lures, inherent and acquired, had shattered themselves futilely against the reserve he had set between them.
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