Now, you know where he is bound. I'll remember that. 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. She doubted how she stood toward him and what the restrained gleam of his face might signify. His hair is oddly streaked with gray —I might say a dishonourable gray. ’ Ignoring this, the major slipped his hands about her waist and lifted her to her feet. Abruptly, Gerald turned. He was sipping a glass of cold gin and water, and smoking a short black pipe. “You are mistaken, David. White said slowly, “it depends a good deal upon what rooms you have.
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