This was the bitterest hour he had ever known. You seemed, he thought, to have some grievance which you would not explain and which he thought must arise from a misunderstanding. “You’ve got to take the decent reasonable way. I want to be whatever I can to you. Not enough of them to make a difference. 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. My friend the doctor suspected it, and so do I.
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