Did you search the yard, fool?" "Ve did," replied Abraham; "and found his fine goat and ruffles torn to shtrips on de shpikes near de creat cate. ‘Aha,’ grunted Gerald with satisfaction, squinting up at the two open shutters on the second floor. "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. Strike the gag, Blueskin. The arrangement had been made by the town matchmaker, a frightening old oak of a man.
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