" "How so?" asked Thames. ‘Unless he is himself a man of substance. "To paint your portrait," answered the jailer. 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. ‘Whither away, mademoiselle?’ he said grimly, ungently grasping her arm above the elbow.
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