’ Taking the chair she had indicated with a careless wave of one stiff-fingered hand, Gerald felt hope burgeoning. It was a gorgeous May evening, the air redolent with the soapy purple scents of hyacinth and lilac. 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. Clear water gave away to gray as she waded deeper, feeling her slippers on rock.
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