Here he halted; and, looking upwards, read, at the foot of an immense sign-board, displaying a gaudily-painted angel with expanded pinions and an olive-branch, not the name he expected to find, but that of WILLIAM KNEEBONE, WOOLLENDRAPER. A thing which had mystified her since childhood, a smouldering wonder why it should be, and until now she had never felt the urge to investigate. ’ ‘Hadn’t the wit, you mean. I shall only pray that I may reward you for all your goodness to me. So he shut his eyes. Seemed like he knew so much—more than me, miss. While this was taking place, another and more serious interruption occurred. But—It’s just this: who was to be hurt?” “I wish no one had to be hurt,” said Ann Veronica.
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