"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. They were followed by Jonathan, who carried a stout stick under his arm, and planted himself near the stone. I do want them. "I call this ere crib the Little-Ease, arter the runaway prentices' cells in Guildhall.
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