"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 pinned her hair off her neck and hoped it would make her to look decidedly older. The truth at once flashed across his mind. ’ *** Martha sniffed dolefully, scrubbing at her reddened eyes with a large square of damp linen. While he was thus occupied, he felt a rough grasp upon his arm, and presently afterwards Ben's lips approached close to his ear. The piece, in three movements, was short enough anyway.
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