” “Your husband,” he answered bluntly. A shiver slid down inside her. She laughed a little contemptuously. “Yes,” she said, very faintly. He began to tell me something—and stopped. 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. Hanging about! And they start thinking and asking questions, and begin to be neither one thing nor the other. She trembled; but she did not know why. \" He said to her after he bought his own ticket.
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