What!— you know so little of that child? She ran away from you. To tell you the truth, he spoke to me very seriously upon the subject. Oh, and weeks and months of thought and feeling there are bottled up too. 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. No one spoke, and she was impelled to flounder on. Her formerly brown hair was dyed a white shade of blonde. Wood was not particularly fortunate in his own matrimonial connections. Still, it was rather terrible to suspect that one had fallen from grace, but nevertheless the thing was possible. It was always jabbing him with white-hot barbs, waking or sleeping.
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