” The hand lingered too long. “Both. "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 was Blueskin. And all to satisfy a succession of rapacious lightskirts. "You are very kind," said Jack, returning the money; "but I don't require assistance. She drew up a chair and sat down, putting her palm on the damp, cold forehead.
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