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. She closed her eyes and felt again an echo of the swamping warmth that had attacked her when his lips met hers. ‘Why, you have heard yourself all that is being said. ‘But on the off chance—slim, I grant you —that there is a spy down there, I don’t want to miss the fun.
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