’ Pierced to the heart by the poignancy of this utterance, Gerald could neither move nor speak. " "I'll ring for one," replied Kneebone, rising accordingly; "but I fear my servants are gone to bed. His gray eyes were closed, his persimmon-colored lips open and panting. Or had you not noticed?’ He sneered. 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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