“You—appear to know my name, sir,” Sir John said. “An Oracle is a vampire, of course. The next weekend arrived and she made her decision. 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. Get the pole out of your ass. ’ He gave the gaping Pottiswick a shove, passing him on to his junior, who was waiting patiently by the kitchen door.
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