Wood, furiously. The colour slowly left her cheeks, the lines of her mouth hardened. ‘Are you going to tell me?’ ‘But looking for proof,’ Melusine uttered impatiently. 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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