A young man —almost a boy, slight, dark, and with his brother’s deep grey eyes—came across the room to her. "Farewell!" cried Jack, embracing them. 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. " "I will take you. I don’t want to bother you, of course.
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