‘Brung the lantern, I did, and opened the door again in case you was ready. Kneebone, he took his departure. The winter had turned sea and sky to a wet gray. ‘Parbleu,’ she uttered indignantly. “You may call anytime. He made it impossible not to respond, his arms tightening deliciously around hers. 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. . ’ ‘That’s better.
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