” He caught up and went on with a sort of clumsiness: “Let me present you with them and be your voter. ” She looked at him quizzically and shrugged. . 276 He opened the box. Let me go, Sir. It was not as bad a wound as she had at first thought, and the blood was only oozing now. 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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