The mortal youth in him, then, was fascinated, the thinker, the poet; from all sides Ruth attacked him, innocently. 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. It’s odd, but nothing but cliche seems to meet this case. It was Jack, wasn’t it?’ ‘Aye, s-sir.
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