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. She was lovely, painted like the porcelain doll he had always wanted her to be. " This exclamation had scarcely escaped him, when the discharge of a pistol was heard, and a bullet whizzed past his ears. " "Because he said he was a Yale man?" "That might be it. He had only to recall this fact (which he did in each crisis) to erect a barrier she could not go around or over. White?” she asked, laughing. He filled his pipe slowly.
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