She lay and nibbled at a sprig of dwarf rhododendron. It's hereditary, like de jigt, vat you call it—gout —haw! haw!" "If the child is destined to the gibbet, Van Galgebrok," replied the Master, joining in the laugh, "it'll never be choked by a footman's cravat, that's certain; but, in regard to going back empty-handed," continued he, altering his tone, and assuming a dignified air, "it's quite out of the question. “Your mother was a Gypsy. Which is also puzzling. By this time, the churchyard was crowded with spectators, some of whom dispersed in different directions in quest of the other robber.
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