"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. ‘I’ll wager that militiaman never rode the animal, then. Thank goodness you’ll understand. ” He looked at her intensely, his dark eyes deepened with sleeplessness. Would she ever find it? Sighing, she opened the door to the next room, and drew back the drapes. “Annabel!” He looked at her thoughtfully. They steal over to Copeley's at night and dispose of the pearl for cash.
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