She moved her hand off of his knee, deliberately slow. Perhaps in two or three weeks. Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples, for I am sick of love. 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 do not know if even I can do anything now.
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