“Won’t you sit down,” she said, “and tell me what you want to say?” Her voice was flat and faint. Spurlock mused over the previous night. “There ought to be some means of getting at him,” he said. Leave me my blanket! I'm very cold at night. ” “Excuse me,” Mr. " "I could make a fine sketch of him now," whispered Hogarth to Gay. "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.
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