She went on her way now no longer dreaming and appreciative, but disturbed and unwillingly observant behind her mask of serene contentment. “Serves you right if I’d cracked your skull. “Yeah, I’ve heard that story. ” “I can spare it,” Anna answered suavely. 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 forget.
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