"I'll tell you," replied Jack, with forced calmness. It was a habit of his to talk to himself. The silence of Canton at night was sinister, for none could prophesy what form of mob might suddenly boil out. "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. Yield up the babe, and I pledge my word you shall remain unmolested. Wood. “What a gloomy person you are!” she murmured. Taking up a couple of large stones which lay near, Jack tried to beat the round basils of the fetters into an oval form, so as to enable him to slip his heels through them. ’ ‘The nuns?’ she said, gazing at him innocently. But I mean to have them. It's only a gentleman come to offer you his hand.
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