His foot tapped impatiently, and he took up the papers. 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. Strange, I shouldn't know him when he called on me. She was not very clear about the position and duties of a chorus-girl, but it certainly had the air of being a last desperate resort. Wood and several serving-men, all well armed, rushed into the room. “My word holds,” she said.
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