What a heat that news had wrought. She wanted to take him in her arms and hush him, but she sat perfectly still. "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 delay was only momentary.
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