Part 2 The next morning was as dark and foggy as if it was mid-November instead of early March. They're only just gone, mercy on us! what a clatter," she added, as the knocking was repeated more violently than before. "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. Save my seat.
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