" "And that's true," rejoined Mrs. “One hardly knows—all the time. She HAD cried, Ann Veronica knew. At the corner of Liquorpond Street stood the old Hampstead coach-office; and, on the night in question, a knot of hostlers, waggoners, drivers, and stable-boys was collected in the yard. There he paused again, half turning his back and pretending to look for someone among the soldiers on the benches. I can't run in these heavy fetters. Petrified and speechless, he turned an imploring look at Wild, who was himself filled with astonishment at the pile of rubbish lying before him.
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