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I don’t conceal it. "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. Never before had he seen a man like Enschede nor heard a voice like Ruth's. Ann Veronica had one of her flashes of insight. " "Rather behind me;" and he spoke no more that morning.
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