Listen, it is I. Suppose our proper place is a shrine. 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. The storm appeared to have blown over, for they were conversing in a very amicable manner with Mr. “I can see you and Anna groaning and nodding your grave heads together.
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