Good riddance. She asked the girl to fetch Mr. Annabel half filled her glass with wine, and taking a little folded packet from her plate, shook the contents into it. 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. Instinctively she knew—some human recollection she had inherited—that she must not disturb him in this man-agony.
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