“Both!” said Ann Veronica. I have had enough of your hysterical behavior. Crack went the whip, and away floundered the heavy vehicle through the deep ruts of the ill-kept road, or rather lane, (for it was little better,) which, then, led across Southampton Fields. 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. She leaned forward in her chair, as if petrified in fear by the scary story. It was his mother, and as he gazed on her pallid features and motionless frame, Jack's heart severely smote him.
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