He sat on the bed, throwing aside his hat. He boasted of her ability to learn to men who were a stone’s throw from having the power of the pope himself. "My own father!" Queerly the room and its objects receded and vanished; and there intervened a series of mental pictures that so long as she lived would ever be recurring. For a time she promenaded the room. Sydney was watching her eagerly. 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. “And, you know, you’re altering us all. I admit it. E. I've taught him all he can do; and there isn't his fellow, and never will be again.
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