“No reason. Nuns, I mean. "I cannot do it. A chill rain thrummed against the sides of John’s car, having slowed from deluge to steady patter, the snow was 158 dissolved where it lay. "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. Why did you let him have it?" "Let him have it? I can't stand at the elbow of any of the guests and regulate his or her actions. . “John.
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