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. It was the same smell that she had in his memory, but now it was definite, palpable, like a perfume. For a few moments, Thames regarded the little girl through the half-opened door in silence.
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