Her cheeks seemed to burn, her veins ran riot, and her heart was beating so fast that she was sure he must feel it through his scarlet coat. " "Law! Miss," observed the maid, "there's nothing mischievous in the person's appearance, I'm sure. ’ ‘But you must,’ Gerald said, quite as if he meant it. He stood upon the threshold, dangling his eye-glasses in his fingers, stolid, imperturbable, mildly interrogative. Treading with noiseless step over the soft mould, they soon reached the building. I will confide it to Father Spencer, who will acquaint you with it when I am no more. Jackson, to the swig. 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.
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