Papillon would have broken him down; anything tender would have sapped his will; and like as not he would have left the stool and rushed into the night. ‘What in the world is that?’ demanded Miss Froxfield. 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. God, how old are they now? They must be teenagers. It was only some hours after that these ambiguous elements evaporated and vanished and loathing came, and she really began to be thoroughly sick and ashamed of the whole disgraceful quarrel and scuffle. “I think, perhaps if you will excuse me, that we will defer the luncheon.
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