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. 92 She did not notice the police car sitting near the Beck house until they were pulling into the driveway. "I suspect our friend has thought better of it, and won't come," he remarked. Even given that he was hopelessly enamoured of the wench, a fact which was obvious to the meanest intelligence. Her bonnet dropped off and was trampled into the gutter.
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