"Not a moment is to be lost," cried Jack: "follow me. 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. The old man was conducted to Jack's cell by the turnkey, who remained near him during their interview. She had not noticed such beauty in many years, and it almost caused her to weep.
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