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. And, if ever I'm brought to the gallows, I shall lay my death at her door. ‘And I suppose I shall be obliged to endure another nonsensical tale about your husband. I forget the particulars, but I know it was something very disagreeable.
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