I believed that our marriage was genuine. ” “I have a clue, at any rate,” he remarked, smiling. 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. Nobody who cared. The same look she had often seen in the eyes of the drunken beachcombers her father had brought home, and it had not filled her with horror.
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