"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 fixed her brilliant eyes upon him. ” Mr. But if we had gone under—!” They regarded one another silently, and Ann Veronica had one of her penetrating flashes. "Your son," answered the boy. ToC That night Jack walked to Paddington, and took up his quarters at a small tavern, called the Wheat-sheaf, near the green. Then perhaps it is Prudence?’ ‘Oh la la! That is not me at all.
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