“I repeat, gentlemen,” he said, in an ominously low tone, “what of it?” Drummond shrugged his shoulders. 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. Sordid; but that was not Ruth's term for it; she had no precise commentary to offer. You will go to London?” “It is necessary,” she answered. “I don’t see quite what your game is, Vee, but I suppose you’ve got a game on somewhere. ” “That’s rather a fine sort of holiday!” He made no answer for three or four seconds.
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