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 drove me. Vee’s all right. "Your mother is dead," interposed Wild, scowling. Cocking the gun. ’ Gerald laughed. "Wet your whistle before you start, Jack," said Kneebone, pouring out a glass of ale. " "Proceed, Sir," said Trenchard, breathing hard.
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