All at once her heart began to patter queerly. They were silent for a time. "Only my darbies," returned Jack, clinking his chains. "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. There was a photo of her that looked exactly like you. But I must summon my janizaries.
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