" When the doctor entered the bedroom and looked into the faces of the culprits, he laughed brokenly. “That sounds so uncouth,” she murmured. 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. But, what is it! What did you promise?" "To offer you my heart, my hand, my life," replied Kneebone, falling at her feet.
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