Figg?" asked Gay. 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. We looked upon you, my dear Sir John, with reverence, almost with awe. ‘Hilary was right. Drummond patted him on the shoulder. He wisely refrained from questioning the manager of the Victoria. ‘Like you?’ ‘But I am not French.
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