" The stranger said nothing, but hastily brushed away a tear. Yes, it was Manningtree really secured your father. “We’ll go to a place where we can have a private room,” he said. 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.
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