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. ‘Where’s the sense in running away?’ ‘Doesn’t trust me,’ Gerald said briefly. Every so often a wall of water, thin and jadecoloured, would rise up over the port bow, hesitate, and fall smacking amidships. " The lad made no answer, but left the room. "What is a sing-song girl?" she asked.
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