His countenance was pale as death, but not a muscle quivered; nor did he betray the slightest appearance of fear. "You are out betimes this morning, Mr. Have the goodness to affix your name to that memorandum, Sir Rowland. He returned, blue towel in hand. "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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