\" 66 She commented as more doors slammed. “Forgive me,” he said, “but I want to hear it from your sister. 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. Anna leaned forward, watching the people in the streets. A black-garbed young lad leapt out and let down the steps. You can purchase the information from me whenever you're so disposed. “See that man?” Sebastian would tap her on the shoulder on a crowded alleyway and say, “See how he lingers too long when he touches that little child? The glow in his eyes? That is lustful intent, my dear. He was the beachcomber, or the old sailor with the black pearl (Ruth's tales), or the wastrel musician McClintock had described to him. He's down in Patagonia somewhere. When she was quite sure that he was gone she took her sister’s note from the mantelpiece and slowly broke the seal.
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