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Are you going to write a novel?” “Not I,” she answered gaily. He laughed at her heartily, and she laughed too as she had not for a year. ” She shook her head. In twenty minutes we meet in the hall, remember. She saw her discarded nun’s habit still on the floor and scooped it up. 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. As he looked up at the massive tower, the clock tolled forth the hour of midnight.
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