\"Lucy?\" He called her as she turned. There was just a minute’s hesitation before they gave her a room. Her neck was smeared with red and remorse flooded him. 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. Although she had said a great deal when she heard about the shooting that had left poor Jack so badly injured. "Bury her in Willesden churchyard, as she requested, on Sunday," said Jack. He had buckled on his hanger, and had two brace of pistols in his belt, as well as others in this holsters. Clearing the few impediments in his way, he soon reached the condemned pew, where it had once been his fate to sit; and extending himself on the seat endeavoured to snatch a moment's repose. "No," replied Jack.
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