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. After all, what did it matter?—it or anything else in the world? She was within reach of his arms, beautiful, compelling, herself as it seemed suddenly conscious of the light which was burning in his eyes. Heliers. He sat up in his chair again, the colour came back to his cheeks. "No, lad," said McClintock, his tone becoming kindly. Man's fate is in his own hands.
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