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. "He's not to blame," said Jack, rising. “Look, dear,” she said presently, “you can put the ten on the Jack. I never realized how fabulous all those homemade dishes were. Now the doctor had the "feel" that somewhere ahead lay danger. This island was the one haven he had; he might be forced to remain here for several years—until the Hand had forgotten him. He gave you a poison.
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