’ ‘A dagger, is it then?’ The girl froze. Men had tried to kiss her— unshaven derelicts, some of them terrible—but she had always managed to escape. 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. There was enough contra-light to render her ethereal. ” She said under her breath.
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