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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. She spoke with fluent enthusiasm. Only your pa knew as how I were the one as saw to you at the wet-nurse’s cottage, and he got a-hold of me and made me bring him to you. I need not counsel you to avoid those fatal courses which have placed you in such fearful jeopardy. She was always initiating petty breaches of discipline. “Annabel! Why, what on earth have you been doing to yourself, child?” she exclaimed. “Sebastianus? Where did my husband go?” He smiled at her gently, patronizingly, as he prevented her from movement or escape. She let out a wail. The man who staggers, whose face is flushed, whose attitude is either noisily friendly or truculent, has some chance; liquor bends him eventually. He never appears to so little advantage as when speaking of him. But his lips were honourlocked.
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