’ With pretty imperiousness, she gestured to the bed beside her. “The dawn!” said Miss Miniver, with her glasses reflecting the fire like pools of blood-red flame. 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. But it's confounded inconvenient. She wanted to take him in her arms and hush him, but she sat perfectly still. They were suddenly thrown aside, and a man stepped out from his hiding-place. "I could almost forgive the wretch the injury he did me in depriving me of my poor dear wife—No, not quite that," he added, a little confused. But there was something else; and in his befogged mental state the comparison eluded him.
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