I wanted John to be proud to be seen with me. "Don't exchange glances with him under my very nose, woman!" shrieked Mrs. "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. He yielded his place and struck instead with his tongue. I’d only have to do something about it, and that I can’t. It did not seem quite fair.
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