If I offered you half of my possessions, you'd doubtless wallop me on the jaw. Lucy tried not to notice the starched smell, overpowering and powdery. She had lost her nerve, and there was no more freedom in London for her that night. "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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