"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. It is Anna again who stands between me and ruin. You'd be coming up to Hong-Kong, but you'd be cutting out Canton. There was now a girl in the picture, so it seemed. The moment they cease to be serviceable, or become dangerous he lodges an information, and the matter's settled. ‘That is better, no?’ ‘Dieu. On the way home he was still thoughtful. "Do you call this frantic glee happiness?" "It's all the happiness I have known for years," returned the widow, becoming suddenly calm, "and it's short-lived enough, as you perceive. She accomplished it with the aid of the young fellow’s hand, and stepped down into the road, glancing up at the house as she did so.
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