"What's that?—Jack's voice!" "It is," replied her son. Then the inner door opened abruptly. Ann Veronica tried to seem absolutely unconcerned. "Take off the ruffles, Blueskin," rejoined Wild. 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 am the most foolish of men. One could go to him and tell him one loved him.
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