” He leaned back in his chair as though wearied. ‘It weren’t my wish, miss, I can tell you that. How did you like Tristan?” Ann Veronica paused the fraction of a second before her reply came. 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. .
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