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 remained for some seconds crouching at the fender, poker in hand. On an empty cask, which served him for a chair, and opposite Jack Sheppard, whose rapid progress in depravity afforded him the highest satisfaction, sat Blueskin, encouraging the two women in their odious task, and plying his victim with the glass as often as he deemed it expedient to do so. “I wonder,” she said, “why one writes him sentences like that? It’ll have to go,” she decided, “I’ve written too many already. His hand traveled below her loose neckline, and he cupped her round breast in his hand. ’ ‘Now you come to mention it, it is stupid,’ Gerald said, struck. "Is it by lettin' you go, my darlin', that I'm to airn it?" inquired Terence. "I am glad you think that," she replied. "How goes it?" he began, heartily.
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