‘I am fascinated. 270 “Curse that boy!” He chuckled and stomped the water. Wood hadn't struck me. "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 not only that her father had said all sorts of inconsistent and unreasonable things, but that by some incomprehensible infection she herself had replied in the same vein. Wrenching his hands from her shoulders, she thrust them away and leapt up from the chair. He did not pocket it, but sat hefting it lightly from hand to hand, watching the girl thoughtfully. What would happen when next morning she returned to Morningside Park? He couldn’t turn her out of doors.
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