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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. She turned to Lucilla, a plea in her face. Again the chalky pallor spread even to her lips, her eyes became lit with the old terror. "Mother!" she echoed,—"mother! why do you call me by that name?" "Because you are my mother. " "Oh, no,—no," replied Mrs.
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