“Let’s go home. He talked about his driver's license, how he would soon inherit his older brother's BMW. It was better even than the hymn-singing. Imitating the example of Mr. pglaf. ‘Your wife?’ ‘My wife,’ he repeated, rising also, his smile mocking her. ’ The lashes fluttered demurely. Its very calmness was frightful. “How CAN I tell him?” whispered Miss Stanley. “I beg your pardon,” he said, “but you appear to be a fellow countrywoman of mine, and in some distress. 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.
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