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At last he could bear it no longer. gutenberg. 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. It was his redemption, his ticket out of hell—that blue-serge coat. I should be sorry if Shotbolt got the reward. The walls were pristine white and unmarked except for two sconces and a rather colorless Monet poster that had been framed in an expensive oak surround. Even the light was different in Athens, soft and golden, sweet as the morning dew blessed by Athena herself. He scratched his upper lip reflectively. “Of course I will,” he answered. ” He said.
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