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. His wife's portrait had been removed from the walls, and the place it had occupied was only to be known by the cord by which it had been suspended. “I suppose, daddy, you’ve no objection to my going on with my work at the Imperial College?” she asked. May I know your name?’ The lady eyed him. My thanks, by the by. “How could it not have hurt?” His analytical side started putting in overtime. "I have," replied Wild; "and nothing but the evidence of my senses would have made me believe he was living, after the positive assurance I received to the contrary.
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