Are you satisfied?’ Grudgingly, Jack Kimble took back the coins. As he looked up at the massive tower, the clock tolled forth the hour of midnight. That’s really our choice now, defy—or futility. 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. He came into the club next day, and of course we went for him thick.
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