" Spurlock's glance shot up, flaming again. 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. ‘You usually do,’ he said lightly. "Since the sea has spared him, I will spare him. Bête, she told herself fiercely. Trenchard glanced at the document.
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