The door popped open with a sigh. “I like you very much John. Whenever I feel particularly gregarious, I take the launch and run over to Copeley's and play poker for a couple of days. What you want to do is to imagine every woman a Becky Sharp and every man a Rawdon Crawley. By-the-bye,” he added, in a suddenly altered tone, “I hope, I trust—that you have not entered into any arrangements with any one here?” “I—oh no!” Anna said, a little faintly. . "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. She had found the mausoleum underneath a broken monument. It's a long time since we met, eight years and more.
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