William Kneebone was a woollen-draper of "credit and renown," whose place of business was held at the sign of the Angel (for, in those days, every shop had its sign), opposite Saint Clement's church in the Strand. Yes, there was someone there. He was a handsome man, and Lucy could see the strong resemblance of John to him. “I meant it. ‘Not entirely English then. And if she is not a nun, nor a refugee, and yet is entirely English, I’m hanged if I know what she is. Clotilde pried Fritz from Lucy’s left leg where he was clinging. And mind, your life,—more than your life—hangs upon your choice. She took up one of her father’s novels and put it down again, fretted up to her own room for some work, sat on her bed and meditated upon the room that she was now really abandoning forever, and returned at length with a stocking to darn. "On Friday," he replied.
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