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Sheppard, who had again looked round towards her son, beheld a hand glance along the side of the woollendraper. "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. "Ha! say you so? You must be looked to. It was better even than the hymn-singing. "But never mind who, or what I am. You can pay me when we return. You seem to want this chap out of Canton. As she talked, the drift and significance of what she was saying shaped itself slowly to Ann Veronica’s apprehension.
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