‘Your master in?’ he demanded of the astonished footman, removing his cockaded hat and handing it over. It’s odd, but nothing but cliche seems to meet this case. “It was best for me to know. He hanged your first husband. Then there was Tom Jarrot, the hackney-coachman, who was pitched off the box against yonder curbstone, and broke his leg. Her eardrums were burning with the echoes of those hideous shouts.
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