“But you’re wrong. She spoke readily enough, but there was a new timidity in her manner. "I've been always true to you. But for now, I’d like to turn in, if you don’t mind. But between us, we'll have him writing books some day. She would be surrendering to all her impulses—particularly the good impulses—many of which society had condemned long since because they entailed too much trouble. 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. She ran away from you; and now I can easily understand why. ’ A little sigh escaped her. "I love her already. " There was a roaring in her ears like that of angry waters.
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