” “You have seen her—since last night?” “Yes. This is a mere boy. “It’s still a marvel to me that we are to be forgiven,” she said, turning. And, as he quitted the room, the poor widow fell with her face upon the floor. It was as if Grace-church Street, with all its shops, its magazines, and ceaseless throng of passengers, were stretched from the Middlesex to the Surrey shore. At least I can’t talk to them. " "What kind?" "Dickens, Hugo. 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. . .
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