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Lucy crouched by the side of the grave, her head in her hands, rocking back and forth. “I have scarcely left his side. Miching Mallecho IX. 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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