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Her husband was drinking in the tavern with the other guests. “You must pack for me. But she was only able to save a corner of the letter. “There is no—Good God!” he exclaimed. At table he carved in a gloomy but resolute manner. “I want to make you happy, Lucy. Mike answered the door while still toweling his hands dry. 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. The expression, however, which would chiefly have interested a beholder, was that of settled and profound melancholy.
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