No sterner head was ever beheld beneath the cowl of a monk, or the bonnet of an inquisitor. The procession now wound its way, without further interruption, along Holborn. "What poet was that?" "Stevenson. " "And, what good would that do?" replied Ireton, sarcastically. There were sidetables and a writing table, similarly buried in bric-a-brac, and the chair by the French doors could hardly be seen for blankets. 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. ” He declared. "Attend to me, Mrs.
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