The season was ripe for mating, she thought to herself bitterly. It had been a part of the vast domain of the servants in the house’s earlier incarnation. It filled his thoughts for the rest of the day, and became an obsession. Gianfrancesco’s had curved differently and was darker. 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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