’
‘Aye, more’s the pity. 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. “Okay. ”
“We’ve come past it, miss,” the man answered, with a note of finality in his gruff
voice. One or two landladies refused her with an air of
conscious virtue that she found hard to explain. She would be healthy, too, and vigorous. And thus it was that she
came upon a book of Stevenson's verse—her first adventure into poetry. And the age gets higher. ‘Did she call you that?’ asked Lucilla, amused. She could
smell the savory tinge of his sweat in the air.
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This video was uploaded to flood-rescue.com on 04-07-2024 06:18:41