“Not a bit of it. Blue haze had settled beyond the black silhouettes of trees, graduating to the deep violet that began the night sky. To divide the agony into two spheres so that one would mitigate the other. I came here to beg you not to sign that contract. 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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