“Is Lady Lescelles in?” he asked the butler. I felt—I felt living in a masked world. Save us!" he cried, as his glance accidentally alighted on the drawing, which Winifred had dropped in her agitation. “I don’t care a rap for remembering. 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.
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