“Everybody seems to have it now. The Widgett mental furniture was perhaps worn and shabby, but there it was before you, undisguised, fading visibly in an almost pitiless sunlight. " "Jack's mother?" exclaimed the young man. 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. Knew something was up. Almost the last female to bear the name, too,’ muttered the old lady. Only first you must find the lantern and light it again and leave it here, near the door, for me to find.
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