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. Wagner had just been in love when he wrote it all. Both McCloskeys disappeared on the same night, without a single trace. “I will not be drawn into a conversation with Mr. ” “To a friend?” “To lodgings—alone.
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