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. ” Michelle said, a cruel inflection lowering her voice. The way—the way we are led on! We are taught to believe we are free in the world, to think we are queens. Her husband stared at her over the candle flame.
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