“Sufficient unto me is the change thereof,” he said, with all the effect of an epigram. We tolerate you for your genius, that's a fact. What was the matter with the dress? She could not see. It was something you were supposed to return, so she raced through all the television shows that she had watched over the years. ’ ‘For shame, Hilary,’ admonished his fiancée, casting a pitying glance at the refugees. He was perhaps forty-five years of age. 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. But perhaps I had better get a room in an hotel to-night and look round. And if the woman is not a rival, she must be—yes, that must be it.
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