” “One has theories,” said Ann Veronica, radiantly. “Look here, daddy,” she said, in a tone of great reasonableness, “I MUST go to that dance, you know. He is in Newgate. She was to be handed over with her dowry of three thousand Florins, plus her pet bird, six chickens, her mother’s fine linens, a small book of poetry. 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 will confide it to Father Spencer, who will acquaint you with it when I am no more. Earles attended her obsequiously to the door.
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