Look at the poor victim at your feet. "Don't ask me about it now. ’ Kimble’s widening gaze told its own tale, but still he kept his fingers on the handle of the door. But I will never—never return. 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.
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