"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. Everything seemed designed to unhinge the mind and make the cat wretched. Sheppard, smiling through her tears. ’ ‘Ah, no?’ She saw his guard relax and lunged again. The tree-lined streets were silent except for the sporadic revving of glass packs down Church Avenue.
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