When he reached the happy ending, he waited. "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. Lucy thought of a song that she had not been able to get out of her head since the Fifties. The one fault, indeed, of this school of fiction for him was that it had rather a light way with parental rights. “Are you in a hurry? Will you come in and have some coffee?” He hesitated, and glanced towards her companion.
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