But before the child could be committed to her care, it was wrested from the carpenter by Rowland. This lover of yours—” “He doesn’t know!” cried Ann Veronica. Wood, disdainfully. 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.
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