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Here he halted; and, looking upwards, read, at the foot of an immense sign-board, displaying a gaudily-painted angel with expanded pinions and an olive-branch, not the name he expected to find, but that of WILLIAM KNEEBONE, WOOLLENDRAPER. In fact, Gerald had given order to the coachman to drive out of Golden Square and then stop around the corner. The stipendiary would have done it all very differently. “I see no reason why you shouldn’t. He is coming here to tea. Spurling bit her lips to conceal her mirth.

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