’ They passed through a little antechamber, and Melusine sighed with relief as she entered the library next door. 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. They smelled good, but they no longer smelled like food. She confronted him with his own double-standard. “The father was in the army, and got a half-pay job at St.
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