The blow had brought him back to the realm of sober thought. Wood, whose admiration for masculine beauty was by no means abated, glanced at the well-proportioned figure of the young man, and made him a very civil salutation. I don’t think we’re altogether to blame if we don’t take some of your lot seriously. "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. That’s— that’s my private life.
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