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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. “I can’t imagine it,” said Miss Miniver. Through that she had to go. “I wish you would come and see my lawyers. What'll we call him—Rollo?"—ironically. ‘Jacques,’ she said, turning to the lad, and holding the habit out, ‘take this for me and leave it in the passage where we have left the lantern. 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. Wood's bed-chamber—it was locked, with the key left in it. “I think that you were inquiring for Mr.
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