She had never heard anything so unholy. He understood now that it was a part of her inheritance. “I might have muddled for a time. ‘I try to be. 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. Even given that he was hopelessly enamoured of the wench, a fact which was obvious to the meanest intelligence. Remember, in your story—look at it, scattered everywhere!—that line? We arrive at true happiness only through labyrinths of misery. The veranda bamboo will be enough for me. Until at last I persuaded him to go to bed. “These are her rooms,” she said.
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