‘Aye, miss, like a shadow. 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. Why should God give particular attention to such a prayer, when He had ignored all others? Certainly there was a trap somewhere. I wouldn't allow you to be honest even if you could be so,—which I doubt. With great difficulty, Wood forced a path through the ruins. As she talked, the drift and significance of what she was saying shaped itself slowly to Ann Veronica’s apprehension.
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