” He recovered himself. She got up, drew up her blind, and stared out of window at a dawn-cold vision of chimneys for a time, and then went and sat on the edge of her bed. 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. “I have had a trying evening and I need rest. Look out, it’s coming. She leaned forward in her chair, as if petrified in fear by the scary story.
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