"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 seemed to have no idea whatever of the emotional states that were becoming to her age and position. Annabel is my only sister, you know, almost my only relative. You're always complaining that you can't keep anybody more than three months. Gosse cursed him finely, of course, but there was nothing he could do. Let's have a look at the kinchen that ought to have been throttled," added he, snatching the child from Wood. ’ ‘The word of whom?’ came scoffingly from the pretty lips. Sheila’s own waif of a husband had objected to her airing the truth, he had even gotten the nerve to bring up the word divorce.
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