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. Ann Veronica had come down thinking of nothing in the world but her inflexible resolution to go to the dance in the teeth of all opposition. They would arrest him for the French spy they had thought her at first. When Mrs. “You know I’m old-fashioned, Miss Stanley. Come and help me pack. ’ The lodgekeeper’s jaw fell open.
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