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Every so often a wall of water, thin and jadecoloured, would rise up over the port bow, hesitate, and fall smacking amidships. Her acrid rose perfume oil that hung in the air that smelled like a head shop, her V. “Why did you lie to that man?” he asked fiercely. 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. ’ The sword was released to slide back into its scabbard.
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