“Is it your maid?” he asked. Sometimes a whole morning would pass without Spurlock uttering a word beyond the request for a drink of water. He came down the shop looking for her quite obviously, and took up a position on the other side against a mirror in which he was able to regard her steadfastly. “Please come home. 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 breathed deeply, and he breathed sympathetically. "You're inquisitive, young gentleman," replied Jackson, coldly. Gerald’s breath caught. However, it don't signify. He drew a little breath and stepped back. You couldn’t help it.
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