” “Well, you can’t say you’re a failure there,” Lady Lescelles remarked, smiling. ’ ‘Well, but he was a deserter, you see. I have always hated it. She could not judge its direction, and began to move swiftly along the bookshelves, her hand running behind her across the spines of the calfbound volumes. He walked her home. Do you know how late it is?” She nodded. Imagination, coloured by the obscurity, peopled the air with phantoms. The stairs creaked as Mark rushed down them. Then, I thought, she has repented, all will be well. 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. Huge trees obscured the view of it.
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