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. ‘I want a word with you, my lad. \"You're a shoo in. “You see you do not know how much of truth there is in his story. She had worried in fear that the excitement would be too much for him. But tell me how have you escaped from the confinement in which you were placed—come and sit by me—here—upon the bed—give me your hand—and tell me all about it. They thought that she was her own mother. ’ ‘Don’t be a little fool,’ Gerald snapped irritably.
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