Its dreariness, like the filthiness of the police cell, was a discovery for her. ‘Never. " "There are bad stories, then, just as there are bad people?" "Yes. 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. But you’ve got to lend me forty pounds.
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