She was surprised and stared at him when he did not immediately leave the bed as Gianfrancesco always did, but instead rested on his elbows. "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. You had better let me go again. Walking into the bedroom, she quickly shed the miniskirt and sweater, folding them without ceremony.
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