Horrors abounded in every passageway as each turn could bring a vision of a poor woman running from her screaming plague-infested son or a bloated corpse of a rich man whose mouth lolled open, showing gaps where someone had pried out a few golden teeth. The agonized mother could scarcely repress a scream at the spectacle that met her gaze. Had he had the child to think of, he might have recovered from his grief at Mary’s death. ’ Melusine threw her hands in the air. "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. He lifted her from the floor.
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