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. “Good luck! Good luck!” She waved from the window until the bend hid him. A slender young man, wearing glasses, appeared from the shadow of the nearest van. ‘I should have thought it was obvious. Maggot. Shy, grateful in her loneliness for this unexpected attention, she had listened. Of course, it was ridiculous, this inclination to assist the fugitive, based as it was upon an intangible university idea. Sheppard. We'll have him on his way before many days.
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