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Occasionally the canvas snapped as the wind veered slightly. ‘Well?’ she said. “And I have dragged you all over here for nothing,” she murmured. He has been bottling it up all the way from West Kensington. 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. “See that man?” Sebastian would tap her on the shoulder on a crowded alleyway and say, “See how he lingers too long when he touches that little child? The glow in his eyes? That is lustful intent, my dear. She looked up quickly. He said nothing. They are not bad girls, but the average tourist has that misconception of them. I know you.
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