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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 tried to think how people get work. “But I wanted to see you. I can't spare you at present. “I wonder if you will?” “Let me say one thing,” he said. “I don’t care,” said Ann Veronica. And if he didn’t, what was the good of seeing him? “I wish he was a woman,” she said, “then I could make him my friend. A thin line of red appeared in the white neck.
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