Hadn’t the stomach to admit the truth, had he? I’ll lay any money he labelled you with some foul French name as well. Manning think?” said her aunt. 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. Look somewhere else in life. “Think of the mockery!” she said.
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