And if she was ever found living in the area like that, homeless, John could somehow find out. “My sister,” she murmured, “is so independent. Not fit to be dust on your boots. Heaven forbid. ” The men at the reporter’s table lifted their eyebrows, smiled faintly, and leaned back to watch how she took her scolding. 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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