" This simple admission disarmed McClintock. 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. . ‘Here we go again. Even in this dread moment Ruth was conscious of a pathetic interest in the scattering pencils. I was Annabel the rake, ‘Alcide’ of the music halls.
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